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Matt scrawled his name on the check.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
“That’s not necessary,” Susan said. “Stick around. The hunting looks good.”
“Not to me,” Matt said.
“I told you, Matt, I’m just not interested.”
“I remember,” he said.
She shrugged.
They walked out of the club and to her Porsche.
She unlocked the car and stood by the open door and held her hand out. He took it.
“Drive slow. That uniform may have a quota of tickets to pass out.”
“I will,” she said. “And thank you for being a good guy at the house tonight.”
“Good ol’ Whatsisname would never know,” Matt said.
“Know what?”
“If you gave me the briefest, most platonic possible kiss good night.”
“I don’t want to,” Susan said. “Can’t you get that into your head?”
“A teeny-weeny, absolutely innocent kiss that not even the Pope could object to, much less Mommy and Daddy.”
“Oh, Jesus,” she said, and moved her head very quickly and brushed his lips.
Then she stood back and they looked at each other in something close to amazement.
Jesus H. Christ! Matt wondered. What the hell was that? Lust at first touch?
Susan quickly crawled into the Porsche, slammed the door closed, started the engine, and drove quickly out of the parking lot without looking at Matt again.
Matt watched until the car disappeared from sight, exhaled audibly, and went looking for the unmarked Plymouth.
Mrs. Reynolds came into Susan’s room as she was undressing.
“Did you have a good time?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, we did. He taught me to put Roquefort on a cracker and then take a swallow of wine.”
“Daddy used to do that,” Mommy said.
“Did he really?”
“He seems to be a very nice young man,” Mommy said.
“For a cop,” Susan said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
