does." She reached for the book on my dashboard. "Tacitus? Didn't know you were into Roman history."
I nodded. "Certainly. I greatly appreciate the parallels betweenRome and theUnited States . And the Romans themselves are just so fascinating."
"Sure, but you'd never know reading Tacitus." She tossed the book carelessly onto the dashboard. "He's accurate, and he grounds his histories well in terms of who was counsel, who were tribunes at what particular time. I had to read him for a class. God, talk about dry."
A growl escaped my throat. "Indeed. If Tacitus were not already dead, I think I might be tempted to kill him."
Nicole laughed lightly like the wind. "Youdo have such a unique way of putting things. I've got this book that might interest you. It's a five-hundred-year-old edition of Seutonius'sThe Twelve Caesars . It's a beautiful, leather-bound volume. In Latin."
"I am impressed."
"Well, you should be." Saucy laughter escaped her lips. "My father gave it to me. He was a classics professor. I'd love to show it to you sometime."
"I would like that," I said, immediately sorry that I had.
After a short ride, we arrived at her house, a white Georgian mansion surely chopped into several flats. Nicole reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a charge slip. I handed her my clipboard and pen and turned on the interior light. As she filled out the charge slip, her scent wafted into my nostrils, a chorus of beer, vodka, sweat and cigarette smoke, not so much competing, but somehow combining to form a whole that was more appetizing than one would normally think, for above it all rose the aroma of her flesh, which was faintly sweet, while not at all acrid. I took a deep breath and closed my ears to the pounding of her heart.
As she handed me the clipboard, her fingers lightly brushed the back of my hand, causing the hairs to stand on end. She faced me, eyes wide and so very, very brown.
"You know, Al...." Her voice trailed off. Her heart began to beat faster. "I'd love to show you my father's book. How 'bout you come over this weekend if you're not doing anything. I'm a pretty good cook. I'll cook you dinner, and you can look at my father's book."
Motherless spawn of Satan! This American woman had just asked me out on a date. And to think that Henry James's Daisy Miller was considered forward!
"Nicole," I began. "I must say I am very flattered by your attention. Very flattered indeed. But I just cannot reciprocate." Indeed, my purpose was to make money and not get distracted by the first attractive woman who showed an interest in me. Besides, the mere sight of her caused a flood of unwanted images - of Anya, her lifeless eyes staring upward, her exquisite body mutilated.
"Ohmygod, you're gay! Maggie told me you were. She said you make her gaydar go off like crazy, but I didn't believe her."
This provoked laughter on my part. Obviously, her best friend, housemate and fellow Co-op cabbie could not have been more incorrect, in fact, could not even venture to provide any reasonable speculation about my sexual orientation. It did occur to me to play along with this charade, but that might provoke attention from those of the male gender, and I would again find myself in this situation.
"No, I can assure you that I most definitely am not a homosexual."
"You're just not interested. I'm just being a pest." Her pained voice trailed off. She turned away from me and reached for the door handle.
It could have been quite easy and infinitely prudent to let her think anything she wanted, but the pain in her voice was obvious, and it touched me. These mortals do find rejection hurtful, most likely because they have so little time with which to find a mate.
"You remind me of someone," I said finally, wanting to ease her pain and realizing that, in fact, she did interest me perhaps just a little.
She touched my arm. "Some bitch who dumped you? Hell, I'm sorry."
I shook my head. "No. She's dead. Not to go into too much detail, but she died saving my life."
Nicole pulled her arm away and pressed both hands to her chest. "Fuck! Shit, I'm such an idiot. I'm really, really sorry."
"Nicole, it is not your fault. You had no way of knowing. Please, do not feel badly."
"Well, I guess I better let you get back to work, huh? Look, you wanna talk about it,