Paperback Writer

“What’s happening, Frank?” I ask, sliding onto a vacant stool.

“Your boy’s been in here asking about you,” Frank says, putting a napkin down in front of me.

“Whiskey please,” I say and then I actually hear what he’s said to me.  “What’s this about a boy?  My boy?  I have a boy?  When did that happen?”

“The guy from the other night when you were in here,” Frank says as he pours my drink.  “The new cop.  The one with the beer.”

“Oh.  My stalker, you mean,” I say.  “My stalker was asking about me.”

Frank’s head comes up.  His eyes are suddenly serious.

“Is he giving you trouble, Nia?” he asks.

I know Frank’s now thinking about the Louisville Slugger he keeps behind the bar.  I know he’s thinking about breaking Lew’s kneecaps, cop or not, the next time Lew has the misfortune of walking though the bar’s doors.

“Oh, Frank, no,” I say.  “I don’t mean stalker stalker.”

“Is it different when you say it twice?”

“He likes me, Frank,” I say.  “I can’t be sure why, but he likes me and he’s trying hard to, I don’t know, date me, or whatever.  He’s annoying, but harmless.”

Frank doesn’t seem convinced.

“If he’s giving you trouble,” Frank says.  “I wanna know.  Your dad will wanna know.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” I say.  “I promise.”

He looks at me a while longer before setting my whiskey down in front of me.

“I’ll be watching,” he says before he moves on down the bar.

I shake my head and laugh into my whiskey.  I kind of hope I’m here when Lew next walks into the building.  It could be a show one should not miss.

I’ve had a whiskey and a half when Susannah finally manages to convince me to join her and her entourage on the dance floor.  I down the last half of my drink and then switch to a bottle of beer.  It’s easier to dance with a bottle of beer in your hand than with a glass of Jack Daniels.

And oh, how I dance.  Usually when I dance, it probably looks more like someone having a wild, out of control seizure which is once of the reasons why I only dance when I’ve had a significant amount to drink first.  I care less then about looking like an idiot.  Susannah, the boys and I do the robot and the sprinkler.  Susannah tries to get everyone to do the time warp but is unsuccessful.

It’s later, much later, when Lew walks in.  We’re in a dancing lull, just kind of standing in the middle of the dance floor, laughing about how very drunk we all are.  I don’t even see Lew at first.  Susannah, with her gin glazed eyes spots him, and calls him over.  I look over then.  He stops in his tracks and looks at us for a moment and then continues on to the bar.  Susannah leans in to me.

“I think he’s still mad,” she says.  Slurs, really.

I roll my eyes.  “Maybe he just wants a beer before he joins the bacchanal here.”

She pushes me toward him.  “Go find out.”

I roll my eyes again but go up to the bar.  He’s standing there, leaning and waiting for Frank to get to him.  If only he knew just how long a wait he was in for.  I stand next to him and nudge him with my elbow.

“Come here often, officer?” I ask.

Lew looks at me and then focuses on the back of the bar.  He doesn’t say anything.

“So you’re still mad?” I ask.  “Over sensitive much?”

“You think so?” Lew asks.  He still doesn’t look at me.

“Yes,” I say.  “I do.”

“Okay then,” Lew says.

I roll my eyes for the third time.

“I didn’t expect to see you in here tonight,” I say.

“I don’t think Frank did either.”

I lean over the bar and look down at the end.  Frank is mixing something but takes a second to glance over at Lew.  It’s not a friendly glance.

“Why is Frank looking at me like that?” Lew asks.

I shrug and sit on an empty stool.  “He’s just looking out for me.”

“If looks could kill, I think I would be in some serious trouble.”

“Your kneecaps, at any rate.”

“What?”

“He thinks you’re stalking me.”

“Why does he think that?” Lew asks.  “Why would he think that?”

“I might have suggested it.”

“Why would you have suggested that?”

“Gee, let me think.”

“I am not stalking you,” Lew says.  “Don’t tell people that I’m stalking you.”

“Well, you seem like you’re stalking me,” I say.  “You keep showing up everywhere I am.  Frank’s telling me you’ve been in here asking about me.  You know who does that?  Stalkers.  Stalkers do that.”

“Stalkers stand outside your house, hiding in the bushes all night long,” Lew says.  “Stalkers don’t have to ask about you in bars because they know where you’ve been because they shadowed your every step.  All I did was ask Frank the other night if you had been in because I hadn’t seen you.  I am not stalking you.”

“Susannah and I do not drink on school nights.”

“Well, as glad as I am to hear that you two do have some principles, I thought maybe you might have changed that policy as you are no longer employed by the school department.”

“Susannah didn’t tell you otherwise?” I ask.  Off his look I add, “Yeah, I know you two talk.”

“Is that a problem?”

“It is when I’m the usual topic of conversation.”

“She seems to think I like you.”

“So you don’t,” I say, not wanting to seem overly interested in the answer.

Now Lew shrugs.  Aggravating man.  Frank glances our way again and then starts toward us.  He looks thrilled.

“Nia,” he says when he reaches us.  “What can I get you?”

“Two beers,” I say.  “Bottled, not draft, please.”

Frank puts two bottles of Sam Adams in front of me.  He pops the caps off and then slides them toward me.  Lew reaches for his wallet but I put my hand out to stop him.

“They’re on me,” I say.  “Frank?”

Frank nods and then walks away, sneaking another look at Lew as he goes.

“You have a tab here?” Lew asks, leaving his wallet where it is.

“Sure,” I say.  “Let’s call it that.”

Lew picks up one of the bottles.  He turns around and leans on the bar but looks out at the dance floor.

“That man does not like me,” Lew says.

“Not currently,” I say.  “He has a Louisville Slugger behind that bar.  And he knows how to use it.  Just so you know.”

Lew nods and drink some of his beer.  “The kneecaps,” he says.

“Frank’s a fan of the classics,” I say.

“Well, thanks for the beer,” Lew says.  “It’ll hurt less now when Frank beats me with his damn bat.”

“It was the least I could do,” I say.  “Frank wasn’t going to serve you.”

“The least you could do probably would have been not telling Frank I’m stalking you,” he says as he sits down.

“Probably,” I say.  “If it helps, I didn’t mean to tell Frank you’re stalking me.”

The look Lew gives me then suggests that it does not help to know I didn’t mean to do it.

“I’m not stalking you,” he says.

“Okay,” I say.

I look over at Susannah and the boys.  She’s looking back and waving us both over.  I nod and hold up a hand, hoping to keep her at bay a little while longer.

“You should come over to the dance floor with me,” I say.

Lew has some more beer.  “And why should I do that?”

“Susannah will drag you over there eventually.”

“I’m not that easily persuaded,” he says.

“You’ve never felt the full force of Susannah’s charms.”

“Charms?  Is that what you’re calling it?”

“To call it anything else would be—“ I pause.  “Well, my mother says said a lady never uses that sort of language in front of gentlemen.  So yeah, let’s stick with charms.”

“Lady?” Lew asks.  “Being rather generous with your terminology there this evening, aren’t you?”

“I blame the beer,” I say.

“I bet you do.  I don’t know how I feel about the dancing,” Lew says.  “I don’t even think I’m interested in leaving this stool upon which I sit.  Although I think I would like to be introduced to your playmates over there.”

“Playmates?” I ask.

I follow his eyes to the dance floor where Susannah, surrounded by both Dom and Jerry, is getting jiggy with it.  I watch them bounce for a moment, wondering if one of them, or god forbid both of them, will be accompanying us home tonight, and then look back to Lew.

“Them?” I ask.  “Jerry and Dom?  They’re on the force.  Don’t you already know them?”

“By sight,” Lew says.  “Not by name.”

“Well, fine,” I say.  “I’ll introduce you.  But you should know they’re not my playmates.  They belong to Susannah.”

“You seemed to be having a good time with them,” Lew says.

“Wait.  Is that why you’re being all pissy?” I ask.  “Are you, I don’t know, jealous maybe?”

Lew scowls and looks off in another direction.  “They know how to make you smile.”

“You’ve made me smile.”

“Not like that.”

“You wanna see me smile?” I ask.

He looks at me again.  His eyes suggest that he wants to see me do more than just smile.  I think I am having an out of body experience.

“Yeah,” he says.  “I do.”

“Come dance with me then.”

“That’ll make you smile?”

If his eyes keep smoldering like that, chances are I’ll be turning into a quivering glob of hormones.  Do quivering globs of hormones smile?  I take the beer from his hands and set it on the bar.

“Only one way to find out,” I say.

I take his hands and he lets me pull him away from the bar and onto the dance floor.  I think Susannah must have been waiting for such a moment as this because as soon as our feet touch the designated surface, a slow bluesy rock song starts to play.  I think about looking away from Lew to see her face and confirm my suspicion but as it involves looking away from Lew, I decide to let it go.  So we’ll slow dance.  What the hell?

My experience with slow dancing has been pretty limited.  There was the occasional junior high school dance and then the prom where I stood with my date, my arms around his neck and his arms around my waist, while we swayed sort of in time with the music.  Later, with Brian, there was more movement, maybe a complete circle, but our opportunities to dance were few and far between.  I have no idea what a slow dance with Lew will entail.

He puts his arm around my waist and pulls me close.  God, he smells good.  I am going to be a puddle by the end of the dance.  Frank is going to have to get one of the barbacks to mop off the floor.

We move together, slowly, and, dare I say it- sensuously.  I keep one arm around his neck.  The other hand moves from his chest to his neck and then back again.  Lew keeps one arm around my waist.  His free hand is constantly moving.  I feel myself melting a little more with every touch and hope the song ends before I’m completely gone.

As the song draws to a close, he lowers me into a slow dip, the kind you see on all the dancing shows now.  He snaps me up again so fast and sharp, I honestly don’t know how our heads don’t collide.  I put my hands on his tee shirt and hook a couple of fingers in the collar.

“They teach that at the academy?” I ask.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Lew asks.

I do, oh god, I do, I really do.  I lick my lips as I reach up and touch him.  I run my hand across the stubble on his cheek.  He covers my hand with his.  The touch sends a jolt through me and I pull away and let my hand drop to my side.

“Sus- Susannah,” I say.  “I can’t—I have to—“

“Hey, Frank,” Lew calls, not taking his eyes off me.  “Call Susannah a cab when she’s ready to leave, will you?”

I don’t take my eyes off Lew either but I can still feel Frank staring at me.

“Nothing I can’t handle, Frank,” I say.

At least I hope it’s nothing I can’t handle.

But I think I’m about to find out.