I dropped her at her place and rolled into my apartment at 11:15. The red message light was blinking on my answering machine. Cheney, I thought. There was something erotic in the very idea, and like one of Pavlov's dogs, I nearly whimpered in response. I pressed the button and heard his voice. Eight words. "Hey, babe. Call me when you get in."

I punched in his number and when he picked up, I said, "Hey yourself. Did I wake you?"

"I don't mind. Where you been?"

"Out with Reba. I have tons to report."

"Good. Come on over and spend the night," he said. "I'll make you French toast in the morning if you're good."

"Can't. She's picking me up here at eight."

"How come?"

"Long story. I'll tell you when I see you."

"So how about I come get you and take you home in the morning in time to meet her?"

"Cheney, I can handle the drive. You're only two miles away."

"I know, but I don't want you rattling around the streets at this hour. The world's a dangerous place."

I laughed. "Is that how it's going to be? You're all protective and I'm docile as a lamb."

"You have a better idea?"

"No."

"Great. I'll pick you up in ten," he said.

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

I waited for him outside, sitting on the curb, wearing a black turtleneck T-shirt and one of my new skirts. This was the third night in a row I'd be seeing him. Like a winning streak at the craps table, the roll was bound to come to an end. I couldn't decide if I was being cynical or sensible in acknowledging the fact. I knew how the night was going to go. In the first moments of seeing him, I'd feel neutral – glad to be in his company, but not irresistibly drawn to him. We'd chat about nothing in particular and gradually, I'd become aware of him: the smell of his skin, his face in profile, the shape of his hands as he gripped the steering wheel. He'd sense my attention and turn to look at me. The minute we made eye contact, that low distant humming would start up again, vibrating through my body like the first rumbles of an earthquake.

Curiously, I didn't feel I was in danger with him. Having blundered so often in relationships with men, I tended to be cautious, remote, keeping my options open in case things didn't work out. Inevitably, things turned sour, which only served to reinforce my wariness. In retrospect, I could see that Dietz played the game exactly the way I did, which meant I was also safe with him, but for all the wrong reasons: safe because he was always off somewhere, safe because he probably wasn't capable of coming through for me, and safe, most of all, because his detachment was a mirror of my own.