Twelve Nights (26 page)

At last he was still. He cradled her in his arms on the hard
floor, held her until her trembling subsided. At last her breath returned.

“Did you come?” she whispered, sure she knew the answer.

“Three times,” he admitted or boasted.

“Three times?”

“Was it too much?” he asked, his voice unsure as he stroked
her temple.

No,” Aggie reassured him. “It was perfect. You were perfect.
Three
times?”

Jimmy chuckled as Aggie sighed and snuggled into his warmth.

“Maybe we’ll have triplets,” she murmured as she drifted to
sleep.

Angela had begun to wonder whether she was manic-depressive.
Her moods swung from elation – she would be rich, she would start her
life over, she was still young, she was beautiful; to despair – she was
tainted, she was a criminal, no man (substitute Richard) would ever love her,
she was getting old and turning ugly. December 27
^th
, the twelfth
day of the contract, found her at the grim end of the pendulum.

She slept in as long as she could, hoping to avoid her
slightly happier twin. She knew Aggie was unhappy about the money. Her twin was
worried that she wouldn’t see Jimmy again after tonight. Angela could read a
man’s eyes fairly accurately and she knew Jimmy wouldn’t let her sister
disappear from his life. She wasn’t sure what kind of offer he would make, but
knew it would be generous. And Aggie had the daily satisfaction of great sex
with a man she adored. Angela knew her discontent was indefensible, but
whenever she saw Aggie the green worm turned in her stomach.

After Aggie left Angela couldn’t stand to sit alone in the
quiet hotel room. She pulled on jeans and a bulky black sweater, encased her feet
in heavy boots and her hands in warm mittens. Feeling like a real Canadian, she
crammed a Vancouver Canucks toque her father had bought her onto her head and
walked out into the night. She had no conscious destination. She walked along
the waterfront in the opposite direction from Jimmy’s apartment, past the
deserted sandy beach and through a grassy park. She ended up below a bridge and
decided to turn and follow the road it carried back into downtown.

Angela saw by the first street sign that she was on Burrard,
a major thoroughfare. The weather didn’t seem to intimidate Vancouverites. Even
on a chilly damp Saturday night, the streets were clogged with cars and the
sidewalks with pedestrians. Angela felt safe and anonymous as she huddled into
her coat and walked slowly uphill toward the center of downtown.

Small white Christmas lights glittered like stars in the
dozens of trees around the Vancouver Art Gallery and down to the courthouse.
Angela smiled thinking that the city would always have a white Christmas. Late
shoppers hurried along laden with post-Christmas bargains. A men in a business
suit talked on a cell phone as he strode past. Two women clutching briefcases
hovered on a street corner, waiting impatiently for a green light. The work
week never ended for some.

Angela acknowledged her unconscious destination about a
block before the building loomed into view. The massive green roof was gray in
the near gloom of urban night, but she recognized the gaping tunnel that was
the taxi entrance to the Vancouver Hotel. She walked across the entrance road
and around the corner to the front of the building. Though her body was toasty
warm, her face was cold. She decided to treat herself to tea in the most
elegant dining room the hotel offered. She hoped they wouldn’t turn her
lumberjack persona away.

She pushed her way through the heavy glass double doored
entry. The interior of the vast lobby was softly lit and warmly inviting,
dotted with conversation groups of richly upholstered sofas and chairs. She
didn’t notice the tall businessman seated across the room until he rose and
began to walk toward her. It was Richard. Angela thought for an instant that he
hadn’t recognized her, that his approach was random, that an encounter would be
unwelcome and awkward. Her eyes darted for an escape route.

As if sensing her impulse to flee Richard quickened his
pace, and Angela knew he wanted to meet her, to talk to her. Relief flooded
into her bones and her face flushed from alabaster to peach. She snatched the
stocking cap off her head and ran her fingers through her tousled hair. She
must look a disaster.

“Hi.” Richard’s approach was simple and direct.

“Hi, Richard.” Angela held out her hand. “I’m Angela.”

“I know.”

He hesitated for one second and Angela pulled her hand behind
her back just as he lifted his. He stood waiting with his hand outstretched and
eventually Angela swung her sweating palm into his. He squeezed tight and held
on a fraction too long. He took a deep breath.

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” he offered.

“I was going to have tea.”

“I can buy tea too,” Richard smiled.

He must have taken her comment for assent, because he placed
his hand on the small of her back and guided her through the lobby and into the
coffee shop. The name was a misnomer, for the room was more elegant than most
three star restaurants. Richard asked for a table by a window and they sat
facing each other across a narrow expanse of crisp white linen.

“How have you been?” Richard asked.

“Fine,” Angela lied. Then she realized, it was time to stop
lying. She began again. “No, I haven’t been fine.”

Richard waited.

“I don’t know why you’re even willing to talk to me,” Angela
said defiantly, staring into his eyes.

The waiter interrupted them and Richard ordered tea and a
sandwich tray. It seemed the order was for them both, for the waiter bowed and
left silently. He seemed to take her defiance with him.

“How much do you know?” she asked with a sigh.

“I think I know everything,” Richard responded.

She wished he would at least smile, give her some indication
where they stood.

“You know I was a prostitute in New York?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“And…?”

Now it was Angela’s turn to wait. Richard sat silently
looking at her for several moments. The waiter brought a pot of tea and two
fragile china cups and saucers. He poured them each a cup.

“I’ll bring your sandwiches as soon as they are ready, sir.”
He almost bowed and then disappeared, leaving silence behind him at the table.

“It’s hard to believe, seeing you looking like a relic from
the northern territories,” Richard finally spoke.

If he wanted her to make excuses, to deny, he would be
disappointed.

“It’s true,” Angela said flatly. Can you deal with it? The
challenge was unspoken but clearly understood.

“My mind keeps picturing,” Richard explained without finishing
his sentence.

“Don’t.” Angela reached across the table and patted his
hand. She was being unfair. No man should be asked to accept that the woman he
wanted had been a prostitute. “Let’s just enjoy our tea and then I’ll leave. I
know the whole situation is impossible for you.”

Richard looked both relieved and anguished. He took a gulp
of tea and must have burned his mouth. He choked and grabbed his water glass.

“Sorry,” he sputtered at last. The word held a multitude of
meanings.

“Did you spend a pleasant Christmas?” Angela turned the
subject into neutral territory.

“No.” Richard didn’t follow her lead. “Angela, I …”

She waited for him to continue but he stared instead at the
teacup as though it held the wisdom of the universe.

“What is it, Richard?” she prompted.

“I’ve done worse than you’ve ever contemplated,” Richard
blurted.

“What?”

“I’m not the upstanding citizen you think, Angela.”

“What could you possibly have done?” Angela was incredulous.

“When I was in my final year of law school, I got drunk and
drove. I hit a lamppost; my girlfriend was almost killed.”

“My God,” Angela breathed. She reached across the table for
Richard’s hand.

“She rejected me. I wanted to take care of her, but she
wouldn’t let me near her.”

“Has she ever forgiven you?”

“She has; her family hasn’t.”

“Have you forgiven yourself?” Angela asked the more
important question.

Richard’s smile was thin; his answer, silence. Angela rubbed
his knuckles.

“I can never practice law,” he continued, his hand a
clenched fist in hers.

“Jimmy calls you his lawyer.”

“He rescued me. Hired me to be his assistant.”

“What happened to the woman?”

“She’s in a wheelchair. Jimmy hired her too. She manages a
data processing division in Kamloops. She’s married now, with two kids.”

“She sounds like quite a woman.”

“She is.”

“My God, Richard,” Angela whispered. “I’m stunned. How many
years ago did this happen.”

“Eight years this March.”

“You’re very brave.”

“Me?” Richard snorted.

“You made a mistake, a big mistake, but you’ve moved beyond
it. You’re doing something good with your life.”

Richard looked up into Angela’s eyes. She held his gaze
steadily then took a deep breath.

“Did you know I tried to steal Jimmy’s Giacometti?” she
asked.

Richard looked stunned. He hadn’t known. Angela feared she
had killed whatever fragile understanding they had reached.

Then Richard grinned. “A hundred twenty thousand wasn’t
enough?”

“I thought the contract was off, that I wouldn’t get paid.”

“Woman,” he chuckled, “You have balls.”

“Actually,” Angela smiled tentatively, “I don’t.”

“Praise the lord.” Richard imitated a southern Baptist
preacher and Angela’s smile widened.

“You’re okay that I almost became a major felony criminal,
but you can’t accept prostitution?” she teased.

Richard’s face turned serious. Had she gone too far? Maybe
some topics were better buried.

“They aren’t the same thing,” Richard said almost sadly.
“Hell, I
am
a felon, but…”

“Forget I said it,’ Angela apologized. “I’m a screw up.”

“It’s a hard thing for a man to accept,” Richard continued.

“I know that,” Angela agreed. “But it’s in the past.”

Angela made a sudden decision, one that she knew to the
bottom of her toes was right.

“I’m not taking the money, Richard.”

“What?”

He was watching the approaching waiter and seemed not to
have heard her words. She could still back out, still be rich and comfortable,
… still watch every word to hide the wealth from her father, still feel her
twin’s anguish at her part in its acquisition.

“I’m not taking the money,” she repeated more loudly. “I
stopped being a prostitute two months ago. It’s a lot of money but the same
principle.”

Richard looked troubled.

“Don’t refuse the money because of me.”

“I’m not. The past is the past,” she repeated. “I realize
that now. I’m looking forward, not behind any more. Will you come with me?”

The waiter brought a tray loaded with tiny triangular
sandwiches. Richard looked across the mound of cucumber and tuna and prosciutto
delicacies and into her eyes.

“Yes.”

The food and the waiter and the restaurant disappeared.
Richard’s answer spoke directly to Angela’s heart. A Shakespearean love sonnet
wouldn’t have been more welcome. Angela sighed and her eyes glazed with tears
and her stomach rumbled all at the same time. Richard seemed to sense her
emotional fragility. He picked up a tiny triangle in his long fingers and
offered it to her.

“Was that a stomach growl I just heard,” he teased, “or are
we having an earthquake?”

Angela took a bite of the sandwich from Richard’s hand. As
she chewed, the atmosphere turned steamy. Richard finished the sandwich in one
bite.

“The Queen Anne suite upstairs is still yours,” he said as
though commenting on the weather.

“I’ve never seen it,” Angela responded, her voice equally
cool.

Richard raised a hand and signaled their waiter, who hurried
to the table.

“Pack these to go,” Richard requested. He handed the man a
credit card.

Five minutes later they were in the elevator, the neatly
wrapped cardboard box dangling from Angela’s finger by a string. Richard held
an ornate silver tray with the teapot and cups. Once he had known their
destination in the hotel, the waiter had insisted they not miss their beverage.
It was a tribute to Canadian respect for privacy that no one in the lobby or
elevator stared. Maybe they thought the pair were actors filming in Vancouver.
Gwyneth Paltrow and … one of the Baldwins?

As they walked down the muted carpet of the fourth floor
hallway, Angela dug her wallet out of the back pocket of her jeans. The almost
forgotten key card was tucked in a side panel. She slid the card in the door
and held it open for the laden Richard. Angela gazed around the elegant room as
Richard put the tray on the dining room table. The suite was like a miniature
apartment with a spacious antique-filled living room and a beautifully
appointed dining area. Richard took the box from Angela’s fingers and set it on
the table beside the tray. Then he returned and tucked her chin between two
fingers.

“You can close your mouth,” he commented, pushing up gently.
“Nice suite, eh?”

Angela slid his hand to cup her cheek.

“Yes, it is a nice suite, eh. Does it have a nice bedroom?”

“Let’s look.”

They walked hand in hand across the living room and straight
to the bed in the adjoining room. Then Richard kissed Angela. His lips caressed
and his tongue demanded. Her body and heart responded. Several moments later
she leaned back from the embrace.

“Did you notice if it’s a nice room?” she teased.

“Any room with you and a bed is a nice room.”

Richard lowered his mouth over Angela’s again and this time
she didn’t interrupt him. His tongue scraped along the roof of her mouth and
Angela sucked it deeper. Richard pressed her hips to his throbbing groin, his
fingers digging into her through the heavy jeans. Then he slid his hands inside
the cloth to bare skin. His mouth stayed locked to hers as they staggered
together the remaining steps to the bed, even as they tumbled to lie tangled on
the cover.