Read Charm City for Free Online Page B

steamed
vegetables. She's a very old soul, our new dog."
    Tess frowned. "Our" was
a word to be avoided at all costs. Their rules of
engagement—more precisely, their rules of
disengagement—said no shared books or CDs, dutch treat for
all meals out, and no joint purchases of any kind.
    But all she said was: "I
don't know why you made it rice and vegetables. I have a
twenty-pound bag of kibble."
    "I like to cook for my
women," he said, pulling out her chair at the mission table
that did double duty as a dining room table and Tess's desk.
"Hey, did I tell you Poe White Trash has a gig
Saturday?"
    "Where?"
    "The Floating Opera."
    "I guess this means I
can't request any Rodgers and Hart," she said,
trying not to make a face. The Floating Opera was an ongoing rave with
no fixed location, hop-scotching across the city—or, at
least, its more fashionably decadent neighborhoods—according
to a pattern understood only by its denizens. As a result, the F.O. had
none of the amenities of a real club, such as alcohol, food, or
bathrooms, and all the drawbacks: cigarette smoke, too-loud music,
too-young crowd.
    "Rodgers and Hart," Crow
groaned. "We don't go in for that retro
crap."
    "Elvis Costello sang ‘My
Funny Valentine.'"
    "Tesser, Elvis Costello is old
enough to be my father."
    "But not old enough to be mine,
right?"
    He smiled, disarming her. "Was
Feeney's mood contagious? Or are you itching for a fight
tonight?"
    "A little of both," she
confessed, and, embarrassed by her crankiness, scooped up her stew
meekly and quietly.
    With dinner done, she put the bowls in the
sink, only to have Crow snatch them back for Esskay, who made quick
work of their leftovers. Crow patted the dog and thumped her sides. For
a skinny dog, she had a lot of muscle tone: Crow's
affectionate smacks sounded solid, drumlike.
    "Is stew good for her, after all
that rice and vegetables?" Tess asked, remembering
Steve's dire predictions from the morning.
    "Kitty had this book, in the
‘Women and Hobbies' section, on
greyhounds," Crow said, rubbing Esskay's belly. The
dog had a glazed look in her eyes, as if she might faint from pleasure.
"It said they usually need to gain weight after they leave
the track, so I don't think a little stew will hurt, although
the woman who wrote the book recommended making your own dog food, from
rice and vegetables. She also said you're suppose to put
ointment on these raw patches, like for diaper rash."
    The dog shoved her nose under
Crow's armpit and began rooting around as if there might be
truffles hidden in the crevices of his fraying thrift shop sweater.
Crow laughed and gave the dog another round of smacks, then sang, in a
wordless falsetto, " Rou-rou-rou ."
    Esskay answered back, in a higher key, the
vowel sounds slightly more compact, " Ru-ru-ru ."
    "I'm not really a
Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy fan," Tess said, turning
on the stereo. Sarah Vaughan's voice filled the room,
drowning out the Crow-and-canine duet. "And I'm
beginning to feel like three's a crowd. Would you two like to
be alone?"
    Crow walked over to her and gave
Tess's backside the same affectionate thump he had given the
greyhound. Tess was solid, too, but meatier, so her tone was deeper,
mellower.
    "I'd put ointment on
your raw patches if you had any," he whispered. "Do
you have anything that burns, Tesser?"
    Through her clothes, his hands sought out
the places where bones could be felt—the ribs below the heavy
breasts, the pelvis bones sharp in her round hips, the knobby elbows.
He pulled her blouse out of her long, straight skirt and stuck one hand
under the waistband, rubbing her belly as he had rubbed
Esskay's. With the other hand, he traced the lines of her
jawbone and her mouth, then moved to her throat and the base of her
neck, where he freed the strands of her long braid.
    "Do you like this,
Tess?" She could only nod.
    Sarah was running through the list of the
things she didn't need for romance: Spanish castles, haunting
dances, full