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He turned to her and was amazed at how much she glowed, her face soft and warm, her blonde hair bright in the night.
“Thank you,” he said. “And you’re amazing.”
She looked back at the ceiling and giggled.
The music ended, and an announcer came on and said that that had been the melodic sounds of Glenn Miller and his orchestra and that the news was next.
Bayer instantly turned to look at the radio, then padded naked across the room and tuned in another station.
“Something wrong with the music?” Mary said, admiring Kurt’s body.
“Oh, it’s not the music. I’m just tired of news. And it doesn’t seem right for now.”
Mary giggled.
She said, “Somehow I don’t think the news is going to slow you down.”
Bayer crawled back in bed and kissed her on the lips. “Me, either.”
“Especially if it’s about those…explosions.”
“Explosions?”
“Yeah, bombings is what they’re saying in the news. They’re scary, but at the same time they’re kind of exciting—you know?”
What the hell? Bayer thought.
“How old are you?” he said all of a sudden.
“Twenty-two,” she shot back.
He reached over, cupped her breast, and squeezed very gently as he kissed her ear.
“No, really,” he whispered.
“Twenty-two.”
“C’mon…”
“Why’s it important?”
“Just curious.”
“Okay. Twenty.”
“Mary…” he whispered and squeezed again.
“Eighteen, okay? Why?”
Jesus Christ. A hooker at eighteen?
“How long have you been doing…this?” he said.
She sat upright. “Doing what?” she said defensively.
Bayer looked up at her. “What we’re doing.”
She looked out the window a long moment. She sniffled, and Bayer saw her eyes were now glistening.
