“What happened to playing it cool tonight?”
“Screw that.” She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the door. As we go through, I hear a drawl that sounds like Blake Donnelly’s over the PA.
“Sixty years after he last played this rooftop, here’s Jerry Lee Lewis, the Killer, from FERRIDAY, LOUISIANA!”
Another roar goes up, but the door shuts behind us before I hear even one piano chord. A middle-aged black man holding a case of champagne looks up in surprise.
“Can I help you folks?”
“No, thank you,” Jet replies. “We just need to check something for Beau Holland.”
And with that we’re past him, moving through a penthouse smelling of wet paint. Jet leads me through another door, outside of which is a small service elevator. As soon as we’re shut into the small cubicle, she takes my face in her hands and rises for another kiss.
“What the hell’s going on?” I ask, holding her away from me as the elevator descends. You’re acting like this is high school, I want to add, but I don’t. Jet never acted like this in high school.
“Sally was right,” she says irritably. “You and Nadine look much too much like a couple for my taste.”
I start to laugh, but there’s genuine jealousy in her eyes. I didn’t realize Jet had been standing close enough to hear Sally’s remark.
“Are you getting a taste for younger women?” she asks.
“Are you serious? Nadine’s only eight years younger than we are.”
Jet’s eyebrows arch. “I’d give a lot to be thirty-eight again.”
“Really? I wouldn’t.”
As the lights on the brass panel above us tick off the floors, I hit M to stop us on the mezzanine. The lobby should be visible from there, and we’re less likely to be seen by anyone who might have sneaked into the lobby from the first-floor entrance. Jet starts to complain, then nods approval as the car grinds to a stop.
Before the door opens, she steals her kiss, a quick, urgent probing of the tongue that makes clear she wants more. This new incarnation of my lover has thrown me, and I feel a strong impulse to go straight back to the roof before we get into real trouble. But Jet is already dragging me from the elevator.
“Look!” she cries, pointing down a narrow corridor toward a polished brass balcony rail. “I’ll bet that’s it.”
Even before we reach the rail, I see the points of the great marble obelisks that bookend the lobby entrance. Jet gasps when she reaches the rail, then pulls me to her side. Even in the half-light of security lamps, the lobby is something to behold. Scaffolding and drop cloths cover several areas, but the Egyptian art and hieroglyphics have obviously been restored, and a massive Sphinx gazes silently over the room, sitting atop a fountain that at this moment is completely dry.
“That fountain was inspired by one in Paris,” Jet says. “This is going to be so great for the city. That EB-5 scam would have been a disaster.”
“Jet, seriously, why are we down here?” I take her by the shoulder and turn her so that she must look into my eyes. “You don’t care about this kind of crap.”
“Sure, I do. I just don’t usually have time to focus on it.”
“But tonight you do? Of all nights? I thought you wanted to talk about Paul. Or Buck. I’ve been thinking we should file a legal challenge to temporarily halt construction at the mill site.”
“You need bones to do that. Not pottery.”
“But with the coroner’s statement—”
“Byron Ellis isn’t a pathologist. He’s not even an M.D. Can we please just drop all that for tonight? Let’s finish what we started this afternoon.”
She reaches between us and gives my penis a hard squeeze. I’m not shocked by her directness, but by her ignoring a subject that on any other night would be obsessing her.
I catch hold of her wrist and push her hand away. “Come on, Jet. Paul’s bound to be looking for you by now. He’ll want to dance with you.”
“Oh, bullshit. He’s watching Jerry Lee Lewis.”
“Jet—”
“And there’s Nadine, remember?” she says in a singsong voice. “Paul will be happy to spend ten minutes dancing with that little number.” Jet grabs my cock again, and this time she hangs on, pulling steadily. “Besides, I don’t want you going back to her until I’ve marked my territory.”
“You marked it this afternoon.”
“Did you shower before you picked her up?”
“Did you snort coke or something?” I grab her hand and yank it up between our chests. “Listen! You’re going to take that service elevator back up to the roof. I’m going to wait here five minutes, then get on the main elevators. Find Paul and make him dance, so you’re busy by the time I walk back into his field of vision.”
She looks longingly down into the lobby. “You’re no fun tonight. You need some inspiration.” Without further conversation, she turns to the rail, leans against it, and hikes her skirt over her hips. “Come on,” she says. “Just go in. I’m still wet from this afternoon.” Her derriere is nut-brown and practically bare thanks to the thong she’s wearing. Another departure from character—she never wears thongs.
Not for one instant do I consider plunging into her. The absurdity of the scene comes home to me in a sickening wave of anxiety. This woman is smarter than any I’ve ever known, yet here she stands, leaning against a balcony rail with her dress over her hips, visible to anybody who might be in the dark lobby below. A security guard, for example. Or surveillance cameras. With a shudder of fear I scan the high corners but see no evidence of cameras. While she waits for me to enter her, I walk ten yards up the carpet, toward the main bank of elevators.
“Get back up to the roof,” I say in an urgent whisper, turning around for only a moment. “Right now. And think of a good story about where you’ve been.”
Very slowly, Jet straightens up from the rail, then pulls her dress down and presses it flat. “Please come back,” she says, looking at the floor.
Her voice is so lifeless that I walk back to her.
“Jet, what the hell? Has something bad happened? Are you afraid to tell me?”
She takes a deep breath, lets out a long sigh. When she looks up, there are tears in her eyes. “I think I’m losing it a little,” she says. “Maybe more than a little. I feel desperate. I’ve always known that my chance of getting custody of Kevin is nearly nonexistent. Buck’s murder was like an exclamation point on that. The power they have. Because they’re going to get away with it. Aren’t they?”
“Not if I have anything to do with it.” I take hold of her right hand and pull her away from the rail. “What about that plan you mentioned to me?”
She shrugs. “You’ll probably think it’s too dangerous. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. I’m drunker than I thought.” She swallows hard, then wavers on her feet. All I can see in my mind is Paul combing the roof for her. “When I saw you walk in with Nadine tonight,” Jet goes on, “that hit me hard. Took my breath away, actually. It drove home how stuck I am. And you’re not. You and she could leave for New Orleans tonight, or Paris, and I’d still be trapped in my marriage.”