Read The Accidental Detective for Free Online

beautiful vowels without all the bullshit blarney, which had begun to tire her. She could barely stand to hail a cab anymore because the drivers exhausted her so, with their outsize personalities and long stories and persistent questions. She couldn’t bear to be alone, but she couldn’t bear all the conversation, all the yap-yap-yap-yap-yap that seemed to go with being Irish.
    “It’s a bit much,” she agreed.
    “I don’t think any writer, even Joyce, thinks things out so thoroughly before the fact. If you ask me, we just project all this symbolism and meaning onto books to make ourselves feel smarter.”
    “I feel smarter,” she said, “just talking to you.” It was the kind of line in which she specialized, the kind of line that had catapulted her from one safe haven to the next, like Tarzan swinging on a vine.
    “Rory Malone,” he added, offering his hand, offering the next vine. His hair was raven black, his eyes pale blue, his lashes thick and dark. Oh, it had been so long since she had been with anyone good looking. Perhaps Ireland was a magical place after all.
    “Bliss,” she said, steeling herself for the inane things that her given name inspired. Even Barry, not exactly quick on the mark, had a joke at the ready when she provided her name. But Rory Malone simply shook her hand, saying nothing. A quiet man, she thought to herself. Thank God.
    “H OW LONG ARE YOU HERE FOR ?”
    They had just had sex for the first time, a most satisfactory first time, which is to say it was prolonged, with Rory extremely attentive to her needs. It had been a long time since a man had seemed so keen on her pleasure. Oh, other men had tried, especially in the beginning, when she was a prize to be won, but their best-intentioned efforts usually fell a little short of the mark and she had grown so used to faking it that the real thing almost caught her off guard.
    “How long are you staying here?” he persisted. “In Dublin, I mean.”
    “It’s … open-ended.” She could leave in a day, she could leave in a week. It all depended on when Barry would cut off her credit. How much guilt did he feel? How much guilt should he feel? She was beginning to see that she might have gone a little over the edge where Barry was concerned. He had brought her to Ireland and discovered he didn’t love her. Was that so bad? If it weren’t for Barry, she never would have met Rory, and she was glad she had met Rory.
    “Open-ended?” he said. “What do you do, that you have such flexibility?”
    “I don’t really have to worry about work,” she said.
    “I don’t worry about it, either,” he said, rolling to the side and fishing a cigarette from the pocket of his jeans.
    That was a good sign—a man who didn’t have to worry about work, a man who was free to roam the city during the day. “Let’s not trade histories,” she said. “It’s tiresome.”
    “Good enough. So what do we talk about?”
    “Let’s not talk so much, either.”
    He put out his cigarette and they started again. It was even better the second time, better still the third. She was sore by morning, good sore, that lovely burning feeling on the inside. It would probably lead to a not-so-lovely burning feeling in a week or two and she ordered some cranberry juice at breakfast that morning, hoping it could stave off the mild infection that a bout of sex brought with it.
    “So Mr. Gardner has finally joined you,” the waiter said, used to seeing her alone at breakfast.
    “Yes,” she said.
    “I’ll have a soft-boiled egg,” Rory said. “And some salmon. And some of the pancakes?”
    “Slow down,” she said, laughing. “You don’t have to try everything at one sitting.”
    “I have to keep my strength up,” he said, “if I’m going to keep my lady happy.”
    She blushed and, in blushing, realized she could not remember the last time she had felt this way.
    “S HOW ME THE REAL D UBLIN ,” she said to Rory later that afternoon, feeling bold.