And why was I running off at the mouth like this? Nerves, I suppose, and the premise that she’d be polite enough not to scream while I was talking.
“Oh, God,” she said. “I’m so frightened.”
“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Look at me. I’m shaking.”
“Don’t be afraid.”
“I can’t help it. I’m scared.”
“So am I.”
“You are?”
“You bet.”
“But you’re a burglar,” she said, frowning. “Aren’t you?”
“Well—”
“Of course you are. You’ve got gloves on.”
“I was doing the dishes.”
She started to laugh, and the laughter slipped away from her and climbed toward hysteria. She said, “Oh, God, why am I laughing? I’m in danger.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am, I am. It happens all the time, a woman surprises a burglar and she gets raped and killed. Stabbed to death.”
“I don’t even have a penknife.”
“Strangled.”
“I don’t have any strength in my hands.”
“You’re making jokes.”
“You’re sweet to say so.”
“You’re—you seem nice.”
“That’s exactly it,” I said. “You hit it. What I am, I’m your basic nice guy.”
“But look at me. I mean don’t look at me. I mean—I don’t know what I mean.”
“Easy. Everything’s going to be all right.”
“I believe you.”
“Of course you do.”
“But I’m still frightened.”
“I know you are.”
“And I can’t help it. I can’t stop trembling. On the inside it feels like I’m going to shake myself to pieces.”
“You’ll be okay.”
“Could you—”
“What?”
“This is crazy.”
“It’s all right.”
“No, you’re going to think I’m crazy. I mean, you’re the one I’m afraid of, but—”
“Go ahead.”
“Could you just hold me? Please?”
“Hold you?”
“In your arms.”
“Well, uh, if you think it’ll help—”
“I just want to be held.”
“Well, sure.”
I took her in my arms and she buried her face in my chest. Our polo shirts pressed together and became as one. I felt the warmth and fullness of her breasts through the two layers of fabric. I stood there in the dark—my penlight was back in my pocket—and I held her close, stroking her silky hair with one hand, patting her back and shoulder with the other, and saying “There, there,” in a tone that was meant to be reassuring.
The awful tension went out of her. I kept holding her and went on murmuring to her, breathing in her scent and absorbing her warmth, and—
“Oh,” she said.
She lifted up her head and our eyes met. There was enough light for me to stare into them and they were deep enough to drown a man. I held her and looked at her and Something Happened.
“This is—”
“I know.”
“Crazy.”
“I know.”
I let go of her. She took her shirt off. I took my shirt off. She came back into my arms. I was still wearing those idiot gloves, and I tore them off and felt her skin under my fingers and against my chest.
“Gosh,” she said.
Chapter Nine
“Gosh,” she said again some minutes later. Our clothing was on the floor in a heap and so, in another heap, were we. Given a choice, I suppose I’d have gone for, say, a platform bed with an innerspring mattress and Porthault sheets, but we’d done remarkably well on an Aubusson carpet. The sense of dreamlike unreality that had begun with the mysterious disappearance of the Mondrian was getting stronger every minute, but I’ll tell you, I was beginning to like it.
I ran a lingering hand over an absolutely marvelous curved surface, then got to my feet and groped around in the dimness until I found a table lamp and switched it on. She instinctively covered herself, one hand at her loins, the other across her breasts, then caught herself and laughed.
She said, “What did I tell you? I knew you were going to rape me.”
“Some rape.”
“I’m just grateful you took those gloves off. I’d have felt as if I’d dropped in for a Pap smear.”
“Speaking of which, why did you?”
“Why did I what?”
“Drop in.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”
“You already know why I’m here,” I said. “I’m a burglar. I came here to steal something. What about you?”
“I live here.”
“Uh-uh. Onderdonk’s been alone since his wife died.”
“He’s been alone,” she said, “but he hasn’t been alone.”
“I see. You and he have been—”
“Are you shocked? I just did it with you on the living room rug so you must have figured out I wasn’t a virgin. Why shouldn’t Gordon and I be lovers?”
“Where is he?”
“He’s out.”
“And you were waiting for him to come back.”
“That’s right.”
“Why didn’t you answer the phone a few minutes ago?”
“Was that you? I didn’t answer it because I never answer Gordon’s phone. After all, I don’t officially live here. I just stay over sometimes.”
“Don’t you answer the bell, either?”
“Gordon always uses his key.”
“So when he used it this time you turned off the lights and stood with your back against the wall.”
“I didn’t turn off the lights. They were already off.”
“You were just sitting here in the dark.”
“I was lying on the couch, actually. I was reading and I dozed off.”
“Reading in the dark and you dozed off.”
“I felt drowsy so I switched off the light, and then I dozed off in the darkness. And because I was half asleep I reacted slowly and perhaps illogically when you rang the bell and then opened the door. Satisfied?”
“Deeply satisfied. Where’s the book?”
“The book?”
“The one you were reading?”
“Maybe it dropped to the floor and wound up under the couch. Or maybe I put it back on the shelf when I turned the light off. What difference does it make, anyway?”
“No difference.”
“I mean, you’re a burglar, right? You’re not Mr. District Attorney, asking me where I was on the night of March twenty-third. I should be asking the questions. How did you get past the front desk? There’s a good question.”
“It’s a great one,” I agreed. “I landed on the roof with a helicopter and let myself down by rope and got into a penthouse apartment through the door from the terrace. Then I walked down a few flights of stairs and here I am.”
“Didn’t you steal anything in the penthouse?”
“They didn’t have anything. I guess they were house-poor, you know? Spent all their money on the apartment.”
“I suppose that happens all the time.”
“You’d be surprised. How did you get past the desk?”
“Me?”
“Uh-huh. You don’t officially live here. Why would they let you up when Onderdonk was out?”
“He was here when I came. Then he went out.”
“And left you here in the dark.”
“I told you I—”
“Right. You turned the light off when you got drowsy.”
“Didn’t that ever happen to you?”
“I never get drowsy. What’s the capital of New Jersey?”
“New Jersey? The capital of New Jersey?”
“Right.”
“Is this some kind of a trick question? The capital of New Jersey. It’s Tr
enton, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Not a thing,” I admitted. “I just wanted to see if your face changed when you told the truth. The last honest thing you said was ‘Gosh.’ You cut the lights when you heard me coming and you tried to melt into the wall. You were scared to death when you saw me but you’d have been scared clear into the next world if it had been Onderdonk. Why don’t you tell me what you came to steal and whether or not you found it yet? Maybe I can help you look.”
She just looked at me for a moment and her face went through some interesting changes. Then she sighed and rummaged around in the heap of clothing.
“I’d better get dressed,” she said.
“If you feel you must.”
“He’ll be back soon. Or at least he might. Sometimes he stays the night but he’ll probably be back around two. What time is it?”
“Almost one.”
We sorted out our clothes and began getting into them. She said, “I haven’t stolen anything. You’re welcome to search me if you don’t believe me.”
“Good idea. Strip.”
“But I just—for a second I thought you were serious.”
“Just my little joke.”
“Well, you had me going there.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe I should just tell you why I’m here.”
“Maybe you should.”
“I’m married.”
“Not to Onderdonk.”
“God, no. But Gordon and I—let’s say I was indiscreet.”
“On this very rug?”
“No, this was a first for me. You were my first burglar and my first romp on a carpet.” She grinned suddenly. “I always had fantasies of being taken passionately and abruptly by a stranger. Not of being raped, exactly, but of being, oh, carried away. Transported by desire.”
“I hope I didn’t ruin your fantasies for you.”
“Au contraire, darling. You brought them to life.”
“Shall we get back to Onderdonk? You were indiscreet.”
“Very, I’m afraid. I wrote him some letters.”
“Love letters?”
“Lust letters is more like it. ‘I wish I had your this in my that. I’d like to verb your noun until you verb.’ That sort of thing.”
“I bet you write a terrific letter.”
“Gordon thought so. After we stopped seeing each other—we broke it off weeks ago—I asked for my letters back.”
“And he refused?”
“‘They were written to me,’ he said. ‘That makes them my property.’ He wouldn’t give them back.”
“And he was using them to blackmail you?”
Her eyes widened. “Why would he do that? Gordon’s rich, and I don’t have any money of my own.”
“He could have blackmailed you for something besides money.”
“Oh, you mean sex? I suppose he could have but he didn’t. The affair ended by mutual consent. No, he simply wanted to retain the letters as a way of keeping the affair’s memory fresh. He said once that he intended to save them for his old age. Something to read when reading was the only thing left for him.”
“I suppose it beats Louis Auchincloss.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing. So he kept your letters.”
“And the photographs.”
“Photographs?”
“He took pictures a couple of times.”
“Pictures of you?”
“Some of me and some of both of us. He has a Polaroid with a cable shutter release.”
“So he could get some good shots of you verbing his noun.”
“He could and did.”
I straightened up. “Well, we’ve still got a few minutes,” I said, “and I’m pretty good at search-and-destroy missions. If the letters and photos are in this apartment, I bet I can find them.”
“I already found them.”
“Oh?”
“They were in his dresser and it was almost the first place I looked.”
“And where are they now?”
“Down the incinerator.”
“Dust to dust, ashes to ashes.”
“You have a way with words.”
“Thank you. Mission accomplished, eh? You found the letters and pictures, sent them down to be burned or compacted or whatever they do at the Charlemagne, and then you were on your way.”
“That’s right.”
“So how come you were still here when I let myself in?”
“I was on my way out,” she said. “I was heading for the door. I had my hand on the knob when you rang the bell.”
“Suppose it had been Onderdonk.”
“I thought it was. Not when I heard the bell, because why would he ring his own door? Unless he knew I was in his apartment.”
“How’d you get in?”
“He never double-locks the door. I opened it with a credit card.”
“You know how to do that?”
“Doesn’t everybody? All you have to do is watch television and you see them doing it. It’s educational.”
“It must be. The door was double-locked when I tried it. I had to pick the tumblers.”
“I turned the bolt from inside.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Reflex, I guess. I should have put the chain on while I was at it. Then you’d have known somebody was here and you wouldn’t have come in, would you?”
“Probably not, and you wouldn’t have had a chance to bring your fantasy to life.”
“That’s a point.”
“But suppose instead of me it had been Onderdonk. Would you have verbed him on the carpet or hauled him off to the bedroom?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I would have told him what I’d done. I think he probably would have laughed about it. As I said, we parted on good terms. But he was a big man and he had a temper, and that’s why I was scrunched up against the wall hoping for a way to get out without being seen. And knowing it was impossible, but not knowing what else to do.”
“What happened to the painting?”
She blinked at me. “Huh?”
“There. Over the fireplace.”
She looked. “He had a painting hanging there, didn’t he? Of course he did. You can see the outline.”
“A Mondrian.”
“Of course, what am I thinking of? His Mondrian. Oh. You came here to steal his Mondrian!”
“I just wanted to look at it. The museums all close around six and I had a sudden urge to bask in the inner glow of great art.”
“And here I thought you just hit this apartment at random. But you were here for the Mondrian.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. You know, he said something about that painting. It was a while ago. I wonder if I can remember what it was.”
“Take your time.”
“Isn’t there an exhibition forming of Mondrian’s work? Either Mondrian or the whole De Stijl school of abstract painting. They wanted Gordon to lend them his Mondrian.”
“And they picked it up this afternoon?”
“Why, is that when it left its spot on the wall? If you knew it was gone this afternoon, why did you come for it tonight?”
“I don’t know when it left. I just know it was here yesterday.”
“How do you know that? Never mind, I don’t think you want to tell me that. I may not remember this correctly—I wasn’t paying too much attention—but I think Gordon was having the painting reframed for the exhibition. He had it framed in aluminum like the rest of the ones here and he wanted some other kind of frame that would enclose the canvas without covering up its edges. Mondrian was one of those painters who continue the design of the painting right around the sides of the canvas, and Gordon wanted that part to show because it was technically part of the work, but he didn’t want to display a completely unframed canvas. I don’t know how he was going to have it done, but, well, I wo
uldn’t be surprised if that’s what happened to the painting. What time is it?”
“Ten minutes past one.”
“I have to go. Whether he’s coming back or not, I have to go. Are you going to steal anything else? Other paintings or anything else you can find?”
“No. Why?”
“I just wondered. Do you want to leave first?”
“Not particularly.”
“Oh?”
“It’s my chivalrous nature. Not just the old principle of ladies first, but I’d worry about you forever if I didn’t know you got out safely. How are you going to get out, by the way?”
“I won’t even need my credit card. Oh, you mean how’ll I get out of the building? The same way I got in. I’ll ride down in the elevator, smile sweetly, and let the doorman get me a cab.”
“Where do you live?”
“A cab ride away.”
“So do I, but I think we should take separate cabs. You don’t want to tell me where you live.”
“Not really, no. I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell burglars my home address. You might make off with the family silver.”
“Not since the price drop. It’s barely worth stealing these days. Suppose I wanted to see you again?”
“Just keep opening doors. You never know what you’ll find on the other side.”
“Isn’t that the truth? Could be the lady, could be the tiger.”
“Could be both.”
“Uh-huh. You’ve got sharp claws, incidentally.”
“You didn’t seem to mind.”
“I wasn’t objecting, just commenting. I don’t even know your name.”
“Just think of me as the Dragon Lady.”
“I didn’t notice anything draggin’. My name is Bernie.”
She cocked her head, gave the matter some thought. “Bernie the Burglar. I don’t suppose there’s any harm in your knowing my first name, is there?”
“Besides, you could always make one up.”
“Is that what you just did? But I couldn’t. I never lie.”
“I understand that’s the best policy.”
“That’s what I’ve always heard. My name is Andrea.”
“Andrea. You know what I’d like to do, Andrea? I’d like to throw you right back down on the old Aubusson and have my way with you.”