herself challenging, bitchily, “Well, you seem to have recovered very well from your tragic loss of Penny, haven’t you?”
“I’ve thought about that,” he replied immediately, matter-of-factly.
God, was he thinking about that, too?
“I don’t think I ever loved Penny. She needed me. She was really fucked up. I got sucked into that. It was the, quote, decent, unquote, thing to do. Doing the right thing keeps getting me in trouble.”
What did he say? “She needed me. She was really fucked up. I got sucked into that”?
He looked down at her again.
“Don’t be a bitch, Susan.”
“Sorry,” she heard herself say, and that sounded very honest to her ears.
He kissed her again, and this time she became aware that the hand that had been on her breast was now between her legs.
Oh, God, I’m all wet! He’ll know!
She freed herself violently, and sat erect in her seat and put her clothes in order.
My bra is loose. Did he unfasten it?
“I am not going to do this in a car,” she said righteously.
“Sorry, I got carried away,” he said.
That sounded sincere.
Matt opened his door and got out of the car.
What’s this? What’s he doing?
He walked around the rear of the Porsche and opened her door.
If he thinks I’m just going to go in there and have dinner . . .
She swung her feet out of the Porsche and got out.
She looked at his lipstick-smeared face, then for a moment into his eyes, and then quickly averted hers.
I’m not going in there with him looking like that!
She took the crisp white handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit jacket and rubbed at his lips. When the lipstick didn’t want to come off, she spat on his handkerchief and resumed rubbing with it.
I can’t believe I did that.
“All right,” she said finally.
He nodded and took her elbow and led her through a rear entrance into the hotel building, and down a corridor into, finally, the lobby. She saw a green neon arrow and the word “Restaurant.”
God, my hair must be a mess, and my face is probably as smeared with lipstick as his was and everybody in the restaurant will see.
“Wait,” Matt ordered.
He left her.
Where’s he going? God, he’s going to the desk. He doesn’t actually expect me to go to a hotel room with him. I can’t believe that this is happening. I won’t let it happen. I’ll just go back to the car . . .
Two minutes later, he was back, swinging a hotel key.
“We have a small suite overlooking the tenth green,” he announced.
Susan nodded her head.
He took her arm and led her to the elevator.
I can’t believe I’m doing this!
The elevator operator, an old man, held his hand out to look at the key. When the elevator stopped and the door opened, the old man said, “To the right, sir. About halfway down.”
“Thank you,” Matt said, and waved Susan out of the elevator in front of him.
He unlocked the door to the suite, went inside, found and snapped on the lights, and turned to Susan, still standing in the corridor.
Their eyes met, and again she averted hers, and then went through the door.
She stopped six feet from the door and looked at him.
“What did you say about Penny?” Susan asked.
He looked confused, searched his memory, and shrugged.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“You said Penny needed you. That she was really fucked up. That you got sucked into it.”
“Yeah, I said that. It’s true.”
“And that doing the right thing keeps getting you in trouble.”
“Shut up, Susan,” Matt ordered with a smile.
He crossed the few steps to her, put his hand on her cheek, and tilted her face up to look at him.
Their eyes met, and this time she didn’t avert hers.
She felt his fingers working the buttons of her blouse. Her breasts, because he had unfastened her brassiere, were not restrained by it.
When he put his hand on her breast, then his mouth on her nipple, she heard herself saying, softly and plaintively, “Matt, I have to sit down. Lie down.”
He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, where, with one hand, he jerked the cover off the bed. Then he lowered her onto it, and as they looked into each other’s eyes, took off the rest of her clothing.
Mr. Paulo Cassandro, the owner of record of Classic Livery, Inc., and its president, a 185-pound gentleman who stood six feet one inches tall, who had been summoned nevertheless, entered the living room of Mr. Vincenzo Savarese very