Christine was carrying a small black bag with “Sojourner Truth School” printed on it. She was traveling light. She looked beautiful, proud, more desirable than ever, if that was possible. She was wearing a white short-sleeved dress with a jewel neckline and her usual flats in black patent leather. I noticed people looking at her. They always did.
We kissed in a corner of the train station, keeping our privacy as best we could. Our bodies pressed together and I could feel her warmth, her bones, her flesh. I heard the bag she was carrying drop at her feet.
Her brown eyes looked into mine and they were wide and questioning at first, but then became very soft and light. “I was a little afraid you wouldn’t be here,” she said. “I had visions of you off on some police emergency, and me standing here alone in the middle of Penn Station.”
“There’s no way I would let that happen,” I said to her. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
We kissed again, pressing even harder together. I didn’t want to stop kissing Christine, holding her tightly. I wanted to take her where we could be alone. My body nearly convulsed. It was that bad, that good.
“I tried,” she said and grinned, “but I couldn’t stay away from you. New York scares me a little, but here I am.”
“We’re going to have a great time. You’ll see.”
“You promise? Will it be unforgettable?” she teased me.
“Unforgettable, I promise,” I said.
I held her tightly in my arms. I couldn’t let her go.
Chapter 51
THE BEGINNING of “unforgettable” felt like this, looked like this, sounded like this.
The Rainbow Room at eight-thirty on a Saturday night. Christine and I waltzed off the glitzy elevator, arm in arm. We were immediately swept into another era, another lifestyle, maybe another life. A fancy silver-on-black placard near the elevator door read: “The Rainbow Room, Step into an MGM Musical.” Hundreds of minispotlights kicked off from the dazzling chrome and crystal. It was over the top, and just about perfect.
“I’m not sure if I’m dressed right for an MGM musical, but I don’t particularly care. What a wonderful idea,” Christine said as we made our way past overdone, outrageous-looking ushers and usherettes. We were directed to a desk that looked down onto the deco ballroom but also had panoramic views of New York. The room was jam-packed on a Saturday night; every table and the dance floor was filled.
Christine was dressed in a simple black sheath. She wore the same necklace, made from an old-fashioned brooch, that she wore at Kinkead’s. It had belonged to her grandmother. Because I’m six three, she wasn’t afraid to wear dressier shoes with high heels, rather than her comfortable flats. I had never realized it before, but I liked being with a woman who was nearly as tall as I am.
I had dressed up, too. I’d chosen a charcoal gray, summerweight suit, crisp white shirt, blue silk tie. For tonight anyway, I was definitely not a police detective from D.C. I didn’t look like Dr. Alex Cross from Southeast. Maybe more like Denzel Washington playing the part of Jay Gatsby. I liked the feeling, for a night on the town anyway. Maybe even for a whole weekend.
We were escorted to a table in front of a large window that overlooked the glittering East Side of Manhattan. A five-piece Latin band was onstage, and they were cooking pretty good. The slowly revolving dance floor was still full. People were having a fine time, lots of people dancing the night away.
“It’s funny, beautiful, and ridiculous, and I think it’s as special as anywhere I’ve been,” Christine said once we were seated. “That’s about all the superlatives you’re going to hear from me tonight.”
“You haven’t even seen me dance,” I said.
“I already know that you can dance.” Christine laughed and told me, “Women always know which men can dance, and which men can’t.”
We ordered drinks, straight Scotch for me, Harvey’s sherry for Christine. We picked out a bottle of sauvignon blanc, and then spent a few delicious minutes just taking in the spectacle of the Rainbow Room.
The Latin combo was replaced by a “big band combo,” which played swing and even took a swipe at the blues. A whole lot of people still knew how to jitterbug and waltz and even tango, and some of them were pretty good.
“You ever been here before?” I asked Christine as the waiter came with our drinks.
“Only while I was watching The Prince of Tides alone in my bedroom at home,” she said, and smiled again. “How about you? Come here often, sailor?”
“Just the one time I was chasing down this split-personality ax murderer in New York. He went right out that picture window over there. Third from the left.”
Christine laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was true, Alex. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.”
The band started to play “Moonglow,” which is a pretty song, and we had to get up and dance. Gravity just pulled us. At that moment, I couldn’t think of too many things in the world I wanted to do more than hold Christine in my arms. Actually, I couldn’t think of anything at all.
At some point in time, Christine and I had agreed to take a risk and see what would happen. We’d both lost people we loved. We knew what it meant to be hurt, and yet here we were, ready to go out on the dance floor of life again. I think I’d wanted to slow-dance with Christine from the very first time I saw her at the Sojourner Truth School.
Now, I tucked her in close and my left arm encircled her waist. My right hand clasped hers. I felt her soft intake of breath. I could tell she was a little nervous, too.
I started to hum softly. I might have been floating a little, too. My lips touched hers and my eyes closed. I could feel the silk of her dress under my fingers. And yes, I could dance pretty well, but so could she.