B-Side Page 4

  Mara becomes more serious and ardent.

  “I was actually thinking of Annie Lennox… wanna fall into my ocean, is it raining with you?”

  “Don’t do that!” She wasn’t angry. Just frustrated. Cheated out of a hot third anniversary weekend and now this.

  “Anyway, it’s dive not fall, I think. You know I’m stuck here for a while. It’s always raining wi…”

  Mrs. Kobayashi enters. Mara looks up as Claire comes quietly into the room, carrying a tray with food, meds and a small ceramic teapot with two cups for green tea.

  “Sorry to disturb. I will just leave this for you.”

  She looks at Casey.

  “You look better today, Cassandra.” She addresses both women. “These little ginger rice cookies are for you. Philip and I will watch a movie. Please call if you need anything, yes?”

  Casey nods , smiles and thanks her, and Mrs. Kobayashi leaves.

  “So anyway, I gotta get back to work. We have two new cases just today. Some kid got stabbed for his iPod, and a disabled woman was raped.”

  She studies Casey, who is biting her lower lip.

  “Dry from the meds, huh?”

  Casey jokes but seems worried.

  “I’m peeling.”

  Mara reaches into her jacket pocket. A glimpse of the shield and holster on her belt.

  “Not to worry, I’ve got you covered.”

  Casey looks steadily into her eyes.

  “Yeah, you do.”

  Mara strides over to close the door that stands slightly ajar. Ducking her head into the hall, she hears that Mr. and Mrs. Kobayashi are fully involved in their movie.

  She walks back to Casey’s bedside, putting Blistex on and dropping the little tube back into her pocket as she walks. The back of her head and shoulders with Casey’s good hand in her hair as she leans over the hospital bed and kisses Casey to apply some lip balm. ­“God, this is awful! I want to come home. You’re killing me.” Casey makes a squeaky puppy sound.

  “I know… it won’t be too much longer. Hang in for me, huh?”

  Mara takes a baggie containing a small box out of her jacket pocket, swinging it from her fingers and smiling. The ole appetite switcheroo.

  “Close your eyes. I’ve got your favorite contraband.”

  Casey, familiar with their little ceremony, closes her eyes and opens her mouth, and Mara pops the Belgian truffle in. A garbled moan.

  “Mmmmm… oh my God.”

  “You know for an atheist, you sure do mention God a lot.”

  Mara watches, making sure that Casey doesn’t choke on the chocolate’s soft center. She laughs and wags her head.

  “My crazy little candy freak. What am I going to do with you?”

  Her cell alarm chimes the intro to Prince’s ‘Diamonds and Pearls’ and she checks the time.

  “Damn it… gotta go. Mr. Kobayashi said I can make you a little koi pond right outside your window in the garden. That’s what the kiddie pool is for. I have to see if it’ll fit so David can order the materials.”

  Mara takes Casey’s uninjured hand and holds it between hers.

  “He will build a little one for real next weekend. I found a water garden place that has beautiful stuff. You’ll love it! And it’ll be our thank you to them, huh?”

  Casey nods, looking a bit sad.

  Mara wills herself to leave, standing up and buttoning her jacket over the pistol and detective shield. She dips down for a quick goodbye kiss and raises her head.

  “Mmm, chocolate and Blistex - I like it. Stay sweet. I’ll try to call you later. If not, see you tomorrow sometime.”

  “Please be careful.”

  “I always am.”

  She barely makes it out of the room before she tears up.

  She jumps in her truck, slams the door hard, snaps on her seat belt, gives the dashboard a short, sharp punch to calm down and turns on a loud CD as she pulls out into the street.

  The reflection of her eyes looking back in the rear view mirror. Flashback to the beginning of Casey and Mara’s affair three years earlier.

  Chapter 14

  11:11

  Casey works as a bartender at Las Lunitas, a small club in Silver Lake with mixed clientele. Mara has been coming in after work to unwind. It has turned into a habit but if Mara knows, she won’t admit to herself why. Workload stress, missing Matty, the break-up. She knew plenty of alcoholics, some in the department, so she was very careful and always stuck to her limit. She had kicked the cigarettes. So that was good.

  Mara leaves work and climbs into her truck. Mara, looking happy and blasting tunes as she drives along.

  Casey on tiptoes, talking to the club DJ up in her booth, a black woman named Deany. The DJ bobs her head to the music and smiles.

  “Just give me the high sign and I’ll fire your little arrow for ya, Baby Girl.”

  “What if she doesn’t come in?”

  Don’t freak, my shorty. You said she’s come in how many times in the last couple of weeks?”

  “Um, five or six.”

  Deany squints hard at her friend, trying not to laugh. She holds the end of one of her thick braids up to her ear and cocks her head to one side.

  “How many was that again?” Now this right here was some rare shit. If anything, Casey was blasé and maybe even over-confident about her looks. She was aware of her effect on people. Beautiful features, exotic eye color, a nice tight little body and killer legs.

  “Okay! Six.”

  She didn’t mind Deany giving her a hard time. This was important. It must because she was really nervous. Worrying about her hair, what to wear? Ridiculous high school crap. But she felt it. Something was different. And Deany had very good radar.

  “HA! She’s so busted and you… you got it bad. Hey, don’t worry. She knows you’re not just hustling tips.”

  “I’m not so sure…”

  “Chillax, Case’. You know how I scope things out from my lofty perch.”

  Deany spreads the fingers of both hands and interlaces them in a lattice, peeking out from behind at Casey.

  “Trust me, there is some two-way chemistry goin’ down.”

  Casey walks back to her bar and ducks under the countertop. She checks her hair in the back mirror and points at herself. Get this right! Try not to make a fool of yourself. Actually, she didn’t even care about that last part. Not really. She trusted her instincts.

  Mara’s vehicle makes a sharp turn into the sloping lot. The digital clock reads 11:11. She pulls the clip holster off her belt, leaving her badge on under her shirttail. She discreetly stashes it and her jacket under her ‘LAPD’ windbreaker in the truck’s steel lock box. She slips a vest over her tank top and slides her cell phone into the pocket of her cargo pants with some neatly folded cash. She looks at her arm and remembers to peel off the nicotine patch.

  Locking the truck, she takes her elastic hair tie off and fires it with her thumb at the sign behind the bar that reads: LOITERING NOT PERMITTED. AS A COURTESY TO OUR NEIGHBORS, PLEASE BE QUIET AFTER 10 PM. PLEASE DISPOSE OF LITTER IN RECEPTACLE. She gives her hair a shake as she walks toward the club. A couple exits and holds the door open as she enters.

  Almost 12:30 on a weeknight. The bar has emptied out except for a few regulars sitting at the back tables, talking trash and listening to music. Light flecks swirl on the small, empty dance floor.

  Mara sits at the end of the bar, facing the door. Derek called it The Gunfighter’s Position. She liked to know what was going on. Always.

  Casey has just made another Tequila Sour, Mara’s favorite after-work drink. Casey looks down at the short line of knotted cherry stems on the napkin next to the current drink and reaches to clean up.

  Mid-sip, Mara shakes her head ‘no’ and raises her finger.

  “Uh-uh, that’s how I
keep track.”

  Casey looks on, smiling. She’s talking. This was good.

  “So, it’s like a cherry stem…”

  “Scoreboard.”

  Casey stares down at the knotted stems and the interlocking triangles Mara has constructed from skinny red plastic bar straws.

  Mara fakes irritation.

  “What, you’re not gonna say, ‘I think you’ve had enough.’, are you?”

  “Oh, hell no. I see that you are deeply and importantly talented. Mad skillz, Frankie Lloyd Wright.”

  Mara shakes her head and laughs. Casey takes her empty glass and turns to put it in a plastic bin under the counter. As she turns back, Mara takes one of the Maraschino cherries from the fresh drink and pops it into her mouth, stem and all. Casey waits with a skeptical look on her face, eyebrows raised and both arms braced on the edge of the bar. Jesus, those lips. Her whole face, her skin… Stop it, stop it, stop it. Say something.

  “So, should I be setting a timer or something?”

  Mara, who is chewing and rolling the stem around in her mouth, shakes her head ‘no’.

  “I’m wait-ing…”

  Mara puts her thumb and index finger to her lips, and pulls out a knotted cherry stem and places it next to the others. She looks somewhat pleased with her effort.

  “Mmm, you do nice work.”

  Mara chokes a little on her drink.

  “Maybe you have had enough. Good thing you order these half-strength.” Half-strength, two cherries. See, a good bartender remembers these things.

  “Good thing.”

  Mara closes her eyes and exhales.

  “Wow, I am so tired. I’d better get going and let you start closing up.”

  She stands and fishes in her pocket for tip money.

  Casey signals the DJ, and the intro to ‘Ain’t Nobody’ begins to play. She points up into the air.

  Mara carefully places the tip on the bar.

  “Chaka Khan… God, great song! 19… 83, the B-side is ‘Sweet Thing’, of course also great.”

  “It’s our song.”

  “I’m sorry?” Was she hearing things? Was Tequila messing with her mind?

  “You’re so cute. I said, It’s our song.”

  Mara looks down, suddenly embarrassed. She tries to be tough and pissed off.

  “When did this happen?”

  Casey’s gaze is level and steady.

  “It would be if you’d ever ask me out.”

  Mara sips the non-existent dregs of her last drink for something to do and massages the back of her neck nervously. Jump. Do something.

  “Well, it did occur to me, but I’m a lot older than…” She trailed off. She had never asked a woman out in her life or wanted to until right now.

  “For your information, I’m twenty-eight. I graduated from Pepperdine with a degree in Art History. I’ve got a beach house I’m fixing up, and that takes money. I’m not just some bartender, you know.”

  “And I’m not just some drinker.” What was all that about?

  “I know. Oh, God… I’m sorry. I’m just really nervous. I don’t mean to overdo it. Please don’t be mad. I just couldn’t stand that.”

  “It’s okay. Why would I be mad?” Okay she was calm now. Calm and excited. Was that even a thing?

  She watches Casey take a fresh, scallop-edged coaster from a stack.

  “The job I have is kinda crazy, so I might not always be so nice to be around.” It was true.

  She adds a belated question.

  “You’re nervous? This is how you do nervous?”

  She laughs. Casey carefully prints her number on the coaster with a bright orange pen. She adds ‘Casey’ and underlines it. Beautiful double-bubble 8’s.

  “Look, I like you. I just want you to know that.” She leans across the bar top.

  Mara stiffens.

  “What are you doing?” Okay, this was too much. Or too fast. Or something.

  Casey carefully slides the coaster into Mara’s vest pocket and taps it with her index finger until it’s submerged.

  “If you never use this, it’s okay… really. But I had to do something. I hope you can understand.”

  Mara pauses, thinking.

  "So... you had her play that?"

  “I felt like I had to do something, or I would chicken out. I actually wait for you to come in here. It…”

  She looks down.

  “It makes my night when you do. Despite my current job, I’m not a casual person.”

  She raises her eyes and locks her gaze with Mara’s.

  “I would never hurt someone or screw around with this… it’s too important.”

  They fall into an awkward silence.

  Casey looks uncertain.

  “So, are we okay? I mean not ‘we’ like that. Oh, God… I’m doing it again!”

  Mara laughs.

  “We’re fine. Don’t be so tough on yourself. I’m not very good at this, either.” Friendly reassurance and the fake authority of zero experience.

  “So, what do you do? Wait, I want to guess. Deany said hospital… because of the hours.”

  Casey narrows her eyes and purses her lips.

  “I think it’s like security or something… you really watch things, even when you look like you’re relaxing.”

  Mara tips her head and nods slowly, looking pleased.

  “Oh, you’re good.”

  Mara pulls up the hem of her tank top just enough to show the gold Detective shield. Casey leans over the bar top.

  “Oh, wow! That is just ridiculously cool. Shit, now I sound like I’m twelve.”

  Mara suppresses a laugh and reassures Casey.

  “Casey, I will call you.” That, right there, was entrapment. Self-entrapment.

  Chapter 15

  Tailgate

  2:45 am. Mara sits on the tailgate of her truck, wearing a jacket with the collar turned up against the cool early morning air. She applies Blistex to her lips and smoothes it with her fingertip, dropping the little tube into her pocket. She is chewing nicotine gum. The lot is almost empty, save three remaining cars, one of which is Casey’s little sports car. Next to Mara sits a bag with two large coffees.

  Casey and Deany burst out of the club’s side door, talking and laughing. Deany says something to Casey, points to Mara and quickly hugs Casey ‘Goodnight’.

  Mara ditches her gum, tearing off a piece of the paper bag. Casey slowly walks over, and Mara pats a spot on the tailgate.

  “You waited for me?”

  Mara holds up a coffee.

  “It’s my day off. Do you want a jacket? It’s kinda cool out.”

  Casey looks stunned.

  “Yes… please. If you have an extra one.”

  Casey sits on the tailgate, holding the coffee between her palms. Mara stands up and takes off her jacket. She takes Casey’s cup, setting it on the tailgate and wraps her jacket around Casey’s shoulders, lifting her hair over the collar. She continues to hold the lapels. Casey reaches up and holds Mara’s wrists. They wait for each other, leaning their heads together, and slowly begin to kiss.

  Chapter 16

  Semper Fido

  Skeezy paces up and down in front of the beach house driveway. He is worried sick about ‘his’ Casey. He paces and unspools his crazy patter.

  “She’s okay though…right? Casey, Casey… oh no! She is nice, really, really nice. Hey Casey, come back here! Good and pretty. Yeah. Give her something. Do it now.”

  He digs in his pocket and picks out five pebbles. He shambles up to the front door to leave them for her, continuing his worried rant.

  “Here I go! Surf’s up, surf’s up! She smells nice. Here I go! Hey, don’t tell me that!”

  He squats down and places his five stones on the corner of th
e doormat. The door flies open, scaring him.

  Mara, who has been sleeping inside on the couch, hears his chattering and comes out to run him off. She stands in the doorway with the Akita. She’s barefoot, and her hair is tousled. There is a nicotine patch on her arm.

  “What are you doing?!”

  “Casey! I didn’t do it. I’m hungry.” He was very worried, but he also hadn’t eaten for a while.

  Skeezy sees the dog and a smile of relief spreads across his face. He hugs the dog’s neck, and the Akita licks his face.

  “Oh, my doggie! Good doggie!” They had never met, but Skeezy loved dogs and they never cared how you looked or smelled.

  Mara is irritated as hell but softens a little.

  “Look, you can’t just come here. Casey’s in the hospital. She said to tell you ‘Hi’.” This wasn’t true, but she didn’t think he would understand ‘hospice’ or ‘home care’, and it was really none of his business, but Casey worried about him.

  Skeezy yells at top volume, knowing the hospital is far away.

  “HI, CA-SEY!”

  Mara squints and raises her eyebrows.

  “Oh my God! Wait here.”

  She comes back with cheese, a box of pepper crackers and two oranges.

  “Here, take it with you. Just go.”

  “I’m going. Can he come with me?”

  “No, he has to stay here.”

  Skeezy is crushed. It was okay that she didn’t call him Franklin because that was a special thing from Casey, but he sure would like to have his own dog friend.

  Mara pauses, and then relents. Plea bargain.

  “Okay, you can eat your food with Seesaw, but then you have to go. Alright?”

  Mara sits on a small bench near the front door.

  Skeezy talks with his mouth full to no one in particular.

  “Hey you! I said the apple is the one. Red, red and roundy red. Fido… Fido… 5-0, 5-0. It’s a Fi-Fi-FIDO!!! Apple on yer keys, Apple on yer truck. Apple stick, sticker! YOU go away! No, YOU go away, Apple Man.”

  Mara hits her limit. She jumps up from her bench, covering her nose with the back of her hand. The local cops who dealt with Skeezy in the past had given him a nickname: Skeezy-Mo, short for Skeezy Mo-Fo. He wasn’t a bad guy, but most of the time he just stank from living outside.