Naughty Neighbor

Chapter 9

Louisa cracked her knuckles and pressed her hand against her breastbone, checking on the hidden transmitter for the thirtieth time in the past two hours. Maislin had been in a committee hearing all morning but was expected into his office shortly. She was supposed to plant a bug on Maislin when he walked through the door. The moment of truth, she thought grimly.

The listening device Kurt had given her was a black piece of plastic, half the size of a matchbook. It was voice activated, would last for six hours of operation, and cost seven hundred dollars.

She jumped in her seat when Maislin stormed through the door, and her heart turned over with a sickening thud when she saw his mood. As was often the case, Stu Maislin was not joyous. He had no tolerance for colleagues who disagreed with him, and several had done just that in his committee meeting. His cheeks were scarlet from the exertion of controlling his temper, and his jowls shook as he pounded past Louisa’s desk. At close range, Maislin had the presence of an army tank at full idle. Louisa could practically feel the floor shaking under him.

He stopped at the entrance to his inner office to review his day’s itinerary with the administrative assistant, and Louisa rushed to her feet. She knew what she had to do. Kurt had rehearsed with her. She knew about physical contact and diversionary tactics. She knew about positioning herself so the rest of the office staff couldn’t see the plant being made.

Her heart rose to her throat, and her pulse pounded in her ears. This sort of thing looked so much easier on television, she thought. And it had sounded so simple when Kurt had suggested it. Now that she was on her feet, she felt frozen in time, her shoes rooted to the floor. If she didn’t hurry, she’d miss her opportunity.

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. She was sure James Bond never had problems like this. She was sure his feet always took him where he wanted to go. That’s the difference between me and James Bond, she thought. I have Chicken Little feet, and James Bond has James Bond feet. Why hadn’t she realized that when they were making these ridiculous plans?

She looked down at her legs and silently ordered them to do something…anything! Miraculously, they took her across the room to within inches of Maislin. She pretended to stumble, and crashed smack into him with a lot more impact than she’d intended.

“Oops,” she said on a whoosh of expelled air. She clutched at his jacket for support and attempted to drop the bug into his pocket, but her hands were sweating and shaking, and the bug slid short and rolled onto the floor. Louisa saw her whole life flash in front of her eyes.

Maislin swore under his breath and grabbed Louisa by the arm, his thumb brushing against her breast in the process. He prolonged the contact and brought her up close to his face.

“You want to do the two-step, we can go into my inner office where we’ll have more privacy,” he said.

Louisa caught a glimpse of the bug sitting black and malevolent on the floor. No one had noticed it fall. She blinked at Maislin with big innocent eyes. “I slipped.”

The thumb did a fast exploratory. “Maybe you should slip more often.”

Louisa wrenched herself away. “Maybe you should eat dirt and die.”

Maislin narrowed his eyes at her. “What?”

“Listen, you miserable scumbag, you try that again, and I’ll make sure you’re in a lot of pain. You understand?”

Maislin just glared at her, and she glared back, thinking anger did wonderful things for her personality. James Bond eat your heart out.

“I’ll deal with you later,” Maislin finally said. He wheeled around and stormed off to his office.

Louisa bent to retrieve the bug. She took it back to her desk and sat quietly, waiting to stop shaking, staring down at the odious piece of black plastic. Now what? Now she was going to have to find another way to insert the blasted thing in his pocket. She was going to have to crawl back into his office with her tail between her legs and ooze up next to him. Not an appealing thought.

Pete was parked half a block away in the Porsche, listening. “Damn,” he said. “What’d he do? What’d he do?”

He wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel and counted to ten. Then he counted to ten again. He hated this. He hated sitting in the Porsche, feeling impotent.

Hellertown might have its faults, but men grew up knowing their responsibilities. Roles were clear. Men didn’t sit around, listening to their women take abuse from other men, and disputes were settled with good old-fashioned physical violence. Man to man.

It didn’t feel right that Louisa should be in there, taking all the risks, threatening to hurt Maislin. Hurting Maislin should be his job, Pete thought. Instead, he was stuck in his car with a radio strapped to his head.

He slumped in his seat, thinking he would have been happier in the nineteenth century. This man/woman business was just too complicated now.

Louisa took a deep breath and smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. She picked some lint from her blouse and checked to see if her nail polish was cracked. She was procrastinating. She didn’t want to confront Maislin again.

“All right, already,” she said into her chest. “Don’t worry. I’ll do it. I’ll do it.”

Pete sat up straighter “What? What?” he shouted.

She took the day’s mail from her desk and headed for Maislin. The mail was a legitimate excuse, she told herself. Nothing demeaning or extraordinary about delivering the mail. She squared her shoulders, knocked twice, and entered the office. Maislin was on the phone, with his back to her. His jacket was slung over a chair by the door!

“Mail,” Louisa said, weak with relief at her good fortune. She flipped the bug into his suit jacket pocket on the way out and closed the door behind her. “Mission accomplished.”

Pete lunged out of the car and strode across the street to the Hart Building. There was a limo at curbside. Maislin’s limo, he thought. He stood, waiting for close to a half hour, with his fists balled in the pockets of his shearling jacket. At last, Maislin swept through the doors with several aides in tow and plunged into the plush interior of the limo.

Pete felt the rage centering in his chest, felt his fist itching to pop Maislin one in the nose. Patience, he told himself. Hold out for long-term satisfaction-go for a congressional investigation, criminal charges, a drug bust.

He watched the limo pull away and slowly move down the street. Then he watched Kurt move after it in a late-model midsize Ford. Pete had ridden in the car many times. It had a custom V-8 engine under the hood, and hidden under the dash was a CB, a flush-mounted tracker with a dropped display panel, and a very large gun. Stashed under the backseat were more tools of Kurt’s trade, and it was anybody’s guess what was in the trunk. His trunk could hold anything from hot watches to dead bodies to Stinger missiles.

Pete rubbernecked at the steady stream of secretaries and aides on lunch errands trickling out of the building, then he plastered a smile on his face and went after Louisa.

She was alone in the office when Pete ambled up to her desk. He had his thumbs hooked into his jeans’ pockets so that his open jacket revealed a black T-shirt stretched across smooth chest muscles and a rock-hard washboard stomach. The washed-out jeans hugged tight hips and held the telltale contour of a man who wore bikini briefs. His full mouth was curved into a lazy smile. His eyes were shaded and filled with sexual promise. And under the facade, he fairly vibrated with suppressed violence.

The quintessential male, Louisa thought. Gorgeous…but not totally evolved. “You look as if you’re about to rupture something,” she said.

He expelled a long breath and kicked Louisa’s desk, hard.

“Feel better?”

He had to think about it a minute. “No.” He opened her bottom drawer and removed her purse. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I have work to do.”

“You’re done working for this creep.” He wanted to take her home and make love to her. He wanted to go to bed and stay there until he felt at peace. No pigs. No politicians. Just Louisa and him locked away from the world for a little while.

For days he’d listened to her heartbeat come through the headset. He was no longer wearing the headset, but he still felt the soft thrum of her pulse. He would always feel it, he thought, somewhere deep in his subconscious. There was a word for it…bonding. He was bonded to Louisa.

The thought hit him like a fist in the gut, and suddenly everything fell into place. He loved her. He would always love her. His love was deep and real and comforting. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel panic-stricken at the thought of marriage and commitment. He smiled at Louisa and kissed her on the nose.

She looked at him warily. “What’s that smile all about?”

“We need to talk.”

Louisa changed into jeans and a rugby shirt and made her way up the stairs to Pete’s apartment. He was making cream of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, and Spike was prowling the area around the stove in anticipation.

“Okay,” Louisa said, pouring two mugs of soup, and taking her place at the table. “What do you want to talk about?”

Pete handed out the grilled cheese. “Marriage.”

Louisa felt her stomach dip. She looked up from her soup. “Marriage?”

“Yep. I think we should get married.”

She put her spoon down and squinted at him. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Never felt better.”

“Marriage,” she repeated. “To each other?”

“It came to me while I was standing at your desk.”

“I thought we’d decided we were incompatible.”

“There’re all kinds of incompatibility. It seems to me our incompatibility isn’t nearly so incompatible as some other kinds of incompatibility.”

“Gee, that makes me feel a lot better.”

It was too fast, he realized. She hadn’t been hit by the bonding revelation the way he had. And she didn’t know how short their time was together. He had a studio breathing down his neck. It wouldn’t be many more days before he received an ultimatum to get his butt out to the coast.

“I should have gotten a ring first,” he said. “I should have done something romantic.”

“That part doesn’t bother me.”

“What then?”

“Eternity. I’m bothered by eternity. You know, ’til death do us part?”

“Do you love me?”

She stirred her soup. “That’s not the point.”

“Aha! So, you admit to it! You do love me!”

“Just because you love someone doesn’t mean you have to marry him.”

“No, but it makes things a lot easier. Besides, I’m a real catch. I’m relatively good looking, I’m great in bed, I’m rich, I’m fun at the zoo…”

“What about my independence? You know, charting my own course, running my own life.”

“I don’t want to take away your independence, I want to share in it.”

“That’s what my mother said when she persuaded me to go to the University of Maryland as a commuter.”

“There are alternatives to marriage. We could get engaged and live together in sin. That sounds like fun, doesn’t it?”

“I’m going to tell Grandma Brannigan you said that.”

He dredged up a smile, reached across the table, and covered her hand with his, “Think about it.”

Kurt showed up on Pete’s doorstep at five-thirty. He had tapes stuffed into his ski-jacket pocket and his fingers hooked into a six-pack of beer. He set the beer on the counter, peeled one off the pack, and popped the top.

“You did good,” he said to Louisa. “Between the phone tap and the bug in Maislin’s coat, I was able to get everything I needed. Not only did I find out the pig’s flight, but Maislin and Bucky had a nice conversation about how the insurance company deserved to get hit.”

He flipped the tapes to Pete. “These are yours. You paid for them, you get to keep them. There’s even a bonus tape dedicated to his drug buys.”

“What about the insurance company and the police?” Louisa asked. “Don’t they want the tapes?”

“Can’t use them,” Pete said. “We bypassed a few technicalities.”

“Then what are you going to do with them?”

Pete grinned. “Give them to the media…anonymously.”

“That should end his political career.”

“Yeah, and when the animal rights activists get through with him, he’ll be nothing more than a grease spot on the pavement,” Kurt said.

He had his head in Pete’s refrigerator. He came out with a plastic container of leftover hot dogs and beans and went in search of a fork.

“There’s a loose end I need to tie up. I need to get the bug back. It’s still in Maislin’s pocket. If he found it, he might get nervous and call the deal off. Besides, it has Louisa’s prints on it.”

He saw the look on Pete’s face and held up a hand. “No problem. He’s on ice at a benefit dinner. In about an hour and a half he’ll be full of chicken almondine and his own self-importance. All I need to know is which pocket.”

“The left,” Louisa said. “Suit jacket.”

“They’re not going to let you close to him dressed like that,” Pete said. “You’re too scruffy looking.”

Kurt tossed the empty plastic container in the sink. “That’s why I’m here. I need a clean shirt.”

By the time he was ready to rendezvous with Maislin, he had more than a clean shirt. He had a suit, topcoat, shirt, shoes, and tie.

“Where’s the dinner?” Pete asked.

“The French embassy.”

Pete handed him the keys to the Porsche. “This’ll help you get through the gate.”

Kurt grinned. “I hope I don’t see anybody I know. This is gonna shoot my image all to hell.”

Louisa watched Kurt disappear down the stairs, heard the front door slam behind him. “He actually looked human.”

“An illusion,” Pete said.

They were playing Monopoly when Kurt returned. He helped himself to another beer and headed for the bedroom. Five minutes later he emerged in his own clothes.

Pete rolled the dice. “Any problems?”

“None.”

“Want to play?”

Kurt snorted. “Pass.”

“I listened to the tapes. They’re pretty condemning.”

“Amateurs,” Kurt said. “They even call each other by name.”

“You going to be in on the kill tomorrow?”

“I might listen from a discreet distance.”

“Thanks for helping out,” Pete said.

“You’ll get my bill.”

Louisa shifted next to Pete, enjoying the slide of skin over skin. The room was velvety dark and comfortably warm. They were loosely entwined in a tangle of sheets. Louisa looked at the bright blue digital numbers on Pete’s beside clock. It was almost five A.M. They’d spent the better part of the night making love, talking about childhoods, sharing secrets.

She turned to the man next to her and dropped a gentle kiss on his bare shoulder. He sighed and smiled, reflexively drawing her closer, but he didn’t wake up. She watched him in the darkened room, fascinated by her own love for him, silently wondering about his marriage proposal. It had caught her off guard, and she was afraid she hadn’t responded tactfully.

She eased away, dressed herself in one of his T-shirts, and padded to the front window. She wanted to see the sunrise. She wanted to sit in the dark, waiting for the sky to lighten, and she wanted to think about all the new beginnings in her life. And she supposed she should think about marriage.

Could she spend the rest of her life with a scriptwriter who was movie-star handsome and only recently domesticated? He’d always have a little bit of the chauvinist hustler in him. And she’d always blithely ignore it. Once the honeymoon was over, they’d drive each other nuts. She shook her head. This wasn’t exactly a match made in heaven.

Pete felt her leave his side, and the loss was enough to bring him awake. He watched her drop the T-shirt over her head and silently move to the window. He thought she looked like a tousled ghost. A sliver of cheek hung pale and tempting beneath the shirt. It was an enchanting sight, but he was sexually exhausted. It had taken hours of hard work for him to reach this state, so he felt there was no shame in his contentment. He rolled onto his stomach and closed his eyes.

Three hours later he woke to the smell of blueberry muffins and coffee. He dressed in his favorite ratty old sweats and padded out to the kitchen. He slid his arms around Louisa and kissed the back of her neck. “You’re up early this morning.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Wondering about the pig?”

“Among other things.” She poured two cups of coffee. “Bucky was supposed to put pig number two on a seven-thirty flight. I sort of wish I’d been there. I feel left out.”

The phone rang and they both jumped, knowing it would be Kurt. Pete took the call. When he hung up, he was smiling.

“The pig was stuffed with the jewelry, all right. The metal parts showed up in the X ray. And when they confronted Bucky, he squealed louder than the pig.”

“I suppose that means I’m out of a job,” Louisa said.

“That’s okay. You need to get busy on those law school applications, anyway.” He sank his teeth into a muffin and reached for the paper.

“See, this is what married life is all about. After a night of outstanding sex, the wife gets up early, bakes muffins, gets the paper from the front porch, and makes fresh coffee.”

“If you’re trying to talk me into getting married, you’re failing miserably.”

“What does a woman want out of a marriage?”

“Undying devotion and a warm place to put her cold feet when she gets into bed at night.”

“You could get that from a golden retriever.”

“Exactly.” Louisa finished her coffee and put the cup in the dishwasher. “I have to go. I have to clean out my desk. Maislin won’t be in until this afternoon, and I’d just as soon have the job done before he shows up.”

“You want company?”

She kissed him on the top of the head. “No, but thanks for offering. There isn’t a whole lot to do. I need to type out a formal letter of resignation, reclaim some personal belongings, and file a sexual harassment complaint.”

“Go for it,” he said.

“How about I bring some Chinese food home with me for supper.”

“I like the hot stuff with the peanuts in it.”

It was gray and drizzling when Louisa straggled out of the subway entrance. She ran across the street to Wuc Don’s Chinese Restaurant and pushed through the double-door entrance.

Heat poured from an overhead vent, and dishes clattered in the kitchen. It was a small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant that did seventy percent of its trade in take-out. The woodwork was black lacquer, the wallpaper was red flocked, the lighting was dim enough to hide the stains on the red-and-gold carpet. Louisa ordered four different dishes plus rice and fried noodles.

Fifteen minutes later she trudged up Connecticut with her bags and white cardboard cartons. She’d stayed away all afternoon, wandering around museums, trying to come to terms with her feelings about marriage. She’d almost reached the conclusion that it might not be so bad, when a mental image of her wedding had flashed into her brain.

The wedding was being held in her parents’ house, and she was in a trim white suit with her mother’s pearls at her neck. She walked down the stairs on her father’s arm, then together they passed through the small cluster of guests assembled in the living room. Her grandmother Brannigan was to one side, dressed in black, fingering her rosary, mouth set, eyes narrow.

“You’ll rot in hell for not being married in a church,” she said.

“There was no time,” Louisa tried to explain. “Besides, I haven’t been to church in seven years.”

Even now, as Louisa turned the corner, she could feel herself break out into a cold sweat of Catholic guilt.

The vision of the wedding continued. Louisa saw herself nod and smile at Mr. and Mrs. Szalagy. “You look absolutely lovely,” Mrs. Szalagy said to Louisa. “And I don’t believe any of those rumors about you being pregnant.”

Beyond Mrs. Szalagy was Aunt Ruth with cousins Margaret and Mary, beyond Margaret and Mary was Uncle Bill. And standing in front of the fireplace was the justice of the peace and Pete.

Alongside Pete stood the best man…Kurt. Kurt was wearing his black-knit watch cap pulled low over his ears. He hadn’t shaved and a cigarette dangled precariously from his lower lip. An inch-long ash dropped off the end of his cigarette and fell onto his filthy sweatshirt.

Louisa and her father stopped in front of Pete and Kurt, and Louisa’s father took her veil in hand.

“Um, wait a minute,” Louisa said. “I don’t think I want to marry Kurt.”

“You’re not marrying Kurt,” her father replied. “You’re marrying Pete.”

“Yes, but Kurt is part of the deal. He’ll come over to drink beer, and hell leave grease spots on the wall behind the couch.”

Louisa sighed. So, there it was…her wedding. Grim, she thought. Very grim.

Pete’s door was unlocked. She let herself in and plodded up the stairs.

Pete was slouched in a chair. He tipped his head back to look at her through half-closed eyes.

“I’ve got supper,” Louisa said. She took a closer look at him. “You look terrible.”

“Good. I’d hate to think I could feel this lousy and not have anybody notice.”

She put her hand to his forehead. “You feel feverish.”

“Don’t say that. I can’t have a fever. I refuse.”

“You seemed healthy enough when I left this morning.”

“It’s all your fault,” he said. “You made me go to the zoo in the rain, and then you wore me out with your constant demands for my sexual services.” He groaned. “Now I have a cold. I haven’t had a cold in nine years.”

“Poor baby.”

“My throat is scratchy, and my eyes are watering, and I keep sneezing.” He looked over at her. “Am I making any points, here? Do you want to marry me out of pity?”

“I don’t do pity marriages.”

“This cold is worthless.”

“Not totally,” she told him. “I’d be willing to fork over a reasonable amount of sympathy.”

“Would you be willing to fork it over in California? I got a call from the coast this afternoon. They’re starting production, and I need to be there.”

Louisa felt her heart stop for a fraction of a second. “You never said anything about leaving for California.”

“I guess it just never came up. I should have been there weeks ago, but I didn’t want to take off until the pig thing was resolved.”

“When are you going?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Are you crazy? You can’t go tomorrow. Look at you-you’re sick.”

“I’ll take some cold pills. I’ll be fine.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Couple months, at least. First, they’ll shoot the location scenes in downtown L.A., then they’ll do the interiors in Burbank.”

She felt as if somebody had just hit her in the face with a board. She didn’t want to marry him, but she didn’t want to lose him, either. The truth was, she’d gotten used to him. Now he was going to up and fly away.

“Men!” she said.

“You’re upset.”

She had her arms crossed over her chest, and she was pacing. “Hell no. I’m not upset. What would I be upset about?”

“You’re gonna miss me.”

“Maybe a little.”

“You could come with me.”

He was serious! “Good Lord,” she said, “you’re giving me twelve hours’ notice to move to California!”

“That’s not enough?”

“No!”

“Okay, so how much time do you need?”

She ran her hand through her hair. “I don’t know…a year or two.”

“I gotta go to bed,” he said. “I gotta get some rest. I feel like death.” He dragged himself up from the chair and shuffled off to the bedroom.

“The plane leaves at seven-thirty tomorrow morning. I have a cab coming at six. You decide what you wanna do. There’s a seat reserved on the plane if you want it.”

He disappeared through the bedroom door, and Louisa heard him flop onto the bed. She followed him in and removed his shoes. “Can I get you anything. Some soup or tea?”

“A gun,” he said. “Get me a gun and shoot me.”

She drew the quilt over him. “You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“You really think so?” he asked hopefully.

“No,” she said. “You’ll probably feel worse.”