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- 02/15/2017
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
The Dame - 11. Chapter 11
The events of the night caught up with both of us and we drifted off to sleep. The next morning I found David sitting on the end of the bed holding up his gown from the night before.
“What’s wrong?” I asked without thinking.
The silence went on for a minute before he answered.
“She’s strong and bold and fierce. Everything I’m not.”
He clutched the dress to his chest and turned to look at me. Pasting Dorothy’s smile on his face, he airily declared, “It’s supposed to be warm today. I’m thinking linen will do nicely. I'll need a few minutes to get ready then we can go.”
Even still sleep laden I recognized a retreat when I saw it.
“David.”
I grabbed his hand and pulled him back down to the bed. He slid into my arms without resistance.
“It makes no difference to me what you wear or who’s name you go by. You can be as strong and bold as you want to be but either way, I’m here.”
I kissed him gently tightening my embrace. We took our time exploring each other, so different from the night before, so unhurried. It was a luxury I can’t say as I’d ever enjoyed. His response gave me more pleasure than my own.
Amid the nascent cherry blossom blooms, we rode the trolley up to Tenleytown where Danny lived. Dorothy looked smart in an apricot-colored linen skirt and silk blouse. The spring sun shone warmly, the colors complementing her skin. She cast a brilliant smile as the trolley gained speed and the wind tossed her hair around. I longed for a camera to capture the moment. This dame, this man, she was both at once and yet more than either.
Danny answered the knock but turned abruptly away upon seeing us. Undaunted Dorothy proceeded inside the apartment. Towers of paper suffused the main living space, pamphlets and campaign buttons covered most surfaces. From the walls hung posters from past and recent elections. Amidst the chaos, Danny stood glowering at us but it was Dorothy who spoke first.
“Did you hear what happened last night?”
Danny frowned, “I heard. What do you want, David?”
He glanced over at me, “And why bring him?”
Not one to stay silent, I spoke up.
“The police wanted to know why Damian was at the benefit and who he was there to see. “
Danny’s attention was now riveted to me, “What’d you tell them?”
“Nothing. Yet. You can start talking by tell us what you and Damian were arguing about before Dorothy arrived.”
“Dorothy? – oh, right.” Danny glared at David, “Geez, you really got him hooked, huh?” His hand slapped over his mouth in a gesture of aggravation or perhaps just despair before falling back to his side and continuing his thought.
“Yeah, well, you know he tried to blackmail me over David. I figured this benefit was his opportunity of getting to the Senator, or possibly getting more money from Mr. Rutherford. But he denied it, saying he didn’t need it. I told him to stay away from the Senator but he just laughed like I was joking. That’s when Dor– David showed up.”
Dorothy reached for Danny’s arm, “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
Danny jumped back like he’d been burned, his eyes darted back and forth between Dorothy and me. For her part, Dorothy froze with a look of utter devastation on her beautiful face. I wrapped my arms around her offering protection and comfort.
“Is that when you killed him?” I lashed out wanting to hurt Danny the same way.
Dorothy moaned, “No, no, Danny couldn’t have done it ”
Danny’s response was visceral.
“You think I killed him ? This is your fault, David Do you know what would happen if the Senator found out about you? What they’d do to me? He needed to be shut up. I almost wish I had!”
Danny punch the nearest wall where a fist-sized hole opened up. Dorothy jumped in my arms at the impact.
I wasn’t done.
“My bet is your temper got the best of you. Damian had that way about him. You wouldn’t be the first - just the last.”
“Seth, please, stop. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
Dorothy pulled away from me and the loss was more than my temper could stand.
“David, you know I’m right. He hit you for god’s sake ”
Dorothy shook her head, retreating further from my grasp, “No, he didn’t mean it. Danny, tell him. You didn’t kill anyone.”
Danny just glowered at the two of us, angry and disgusted.
My jaw ached from clenching it as I turned toward the door. No good would come from continuing this farce and I need air. I couldn’t breath while she defended him. The sound of the slamming door rang in my ears long after I had left the building.
Two days later hadn’t cooled my fury. My head still buzzed with the argument like hornets in a rainstorm. A cold driving rain replaced the warm Spring days taunting my mood and mimicking the space in my chest where my heart used to beat.
True to my fate I made it to the office just as Detective Cavanaugh was leaving.
“Thought I might find you here. Needed to ask you a few more questions.”
His gaze said he had more for me than questions and it might involve handcuffs. I needed to stall him.
“I missed breakfast. You mind if we take this to the diner around the corner?”
He nodded and followed me out to the street. It was late morning so the place was deserted. We sat at the counter; I ordered coffee and apple pie, he just had the coffee.
“I’m trying to account for Mr. Guisti’s movements the other night. Anything you think you can add to that?”
He sat stirring sugar into his coffee, his movements slow, deliberate.
“Not sure what you want me to say.”
He kept stirring, “A number of the guests mentioned seeing you in the hallway speaking to someone who might have been the victim. It appeared to be a heated discussion.”
“Are you accusing me of something, Detective?”
“The victim was stabbed with a knife. This kind of attack was angry and personal. He worked for you and you’ve been asking around for him. “
The stirring stopped amid the quiet of the diner; the moment felt ponderous.
I tried to shrug it off, “Not very incriminating.”
“Who was your date for the evening, Mr. Graham?”
“Why do you ask?”, I responded a little too quickly, a little too loud.
The waitress arrived with my pie and left the check. My appetite had disappeared but I shoved a large bite in my mouth and waited for his answer.
“She was also seen in that hallway, looked like she may have gotten roughed up. So I ask myself if this was a coincidence. See, if it was me and someone hit my girl, I’d want some kind of revenge.”
My girl...was he? Or had our argument ended that promise?
My skin rippled with that something I couldn’t put a tag on. An itch, or worse, a need pulling at me. It was too much and not enough. I couldn’t shake this dame no matter how I tried. Then again, did I want to?
“Don’t have a girl, Detective.” And that was probably the first honest answer I’d given him all morning.
I finished my joe and dropped a couple of bucks on the counter, “Gotta get to work.”
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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