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parties. We talked for an hour or so that night and I found that I still liked her. We agreed to get together again soon. I'd called Macy when I got home from my bust of a trip to California. We met at the 1789 restaurant for drinks and maybe dinner. Mac/s choice. It was near her place in Georgetown. The restaurant is set in a Federal-style town house at Thirty-sixth and Prospect. I got there first, but Macy arrived a few minutes later. She came up, gave me a sweet kiss on the cheek before we sat down in the cozy pub. I liked the fleeting touch of her lips, the smell of a citrus fragrance on her neck. She had on a lilac turtleneck sweater sleeveless, a black skirt that lightly hugged her, suede slingback heels. She had small diamond studs in her ears. As far back as I can remember, Macy had always dressed well. She'd always looked nice, and I guess I had always noticed. 'You know, I'll tell you a secret, Alex,' Macy said once we had ordered glasses of wine. 'I saw you at John Sampson's party, and I thought to myself, Alex Cross looks better than he ever did. I'm sorry, but that's what went buzzing through my head.' We both laughed. Her teeth were even and shiny white. Her brown eyes were bright and intelligent. She had always been the smartest in her classes. 'I thought the same thing about you,' I told her. 'You like teaching okay, the new job at Georgetown working out? The Jesuits leaving you alone?' She nodded. 'My father once told me you're lucky if you ever find something you like to do. Then it's a miracle if you can find somebody who'll pay you to do it. I found it, I guess. How about you?' 'Well,' I said seriously, 'I'm not sure if I love my job, or if I'm just addicted to it. No, actually I do like it most of the time.' 'You a workaholic?' Macy asked. 'Tell the truth now.' 'Oh no … well, maybe … some weeks I am.' 'But not this week? At least not tonight.' 'No, last week was the bad one. This week has been mostly relaxed. Tonight is very relaxed. I need a whole lot more of this,' I said, and laughed.
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'You look relaxed, Alex. It's so nice seeing you again.' Macy and I continued to talk easily. A few people were eating at banquettes in the pub room, but it was mostly quiet. Parents of Georgetown students often take their kids to 1789 for a special meal. It is special. I was glad I was meeting Macy here. She'd made a good choice. 'I asked some girlfriends about you,' she confessed, then giggled. 'Alex Cross is “not available” a few of them said. “He's kind of a coconut,” one sister said. The other girls said she was crazy as a loon. But - are you?' I shook my head. 'People are funny, how they need to make judgments on everybody else. I still live in the old neighborhood, don't I? No coconuts live in Southeast. I don't think so.' Macy agreed with that. 'You're right, you're right. Not too many people understood how we grew up here, Alex. I was named after a damn department store. You believe that?' 'I do. I grew up here, Macy.'We clinked our glasses and laughed. 'I guess I'm lucky my name isn't Bloomingdale.' A couple of times, I brought up dinner, but she was more comfortable sitting and talking. I know Chef Ris Lacoste, and I love her cooking. I had my heart set on crab cakes garnished with her special slaw. But we drank another couple of glasses of wine, and then Macy started to get a little ahead of me with the wine orders. 'You sure you don't want to eat something?' I asked a little later. 'I think I already told you that I didn't,'she said. Then she forced a smile.'I like what we're doing here, just talking, chilling. Don't you?' I did like talking to Macy but I hadn't eaten since breakfast, and I needed to get some solid food in me pretty soon. I was hungering for some of the thick, luscious black bean soup. I glanced at my watch and saw it was already ten-thirty. I wondered what time 1789 stopped serving. Macy began telling me about her marriages. Her first husband had been a bum and a loser; the second, a younger man from Grenada, was even worse, she said. She was getting a little loud and people at the bar were starting to notice us. 'So here I am, thirty-seven years old. I had to go back to work even -------------- Ill --------------
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though I didn't want to. I'm teaching freshmen, Alex. English composition, World Lit. God knows, seniors are bad enough.' I was sure she said that she liked teaching, but maybe I heard her wrong, or she was being sarcastic. I wasn't doing much talking anymore, just listening to her stories, and eventually Macy noticed. She put her hand over mine. She had the smoothest brown skin.'I'm sorry, I got carried away, Alex. I talk too much, don't I? So I've been told. I'm really sorry.' 'We haven't seen each other in a long time. Lots to talk about.' She looked at me and she had such beautiful brown eyes. I was sorry that she'd been hurt in her marriages, hurt by love. It happens to the best of people sometimes. Macy was obviously still hurting. 'You do look great,'she said.'And you listen pretty good for a man. That's important.' 'You too, Macy. I like your stories.' Her hand was back on top of mine, her nails lightly grazing my skin. It felt nice, actually. There was nothing too subtle going on here. She let her tongue wet her upper lip, then she lightly bit down. I was finally starting to forget that I was hungry for the crab cakes and black bean soup at 1789. Macy was quietly staring into my eyes. We were both adults, unattached, and I was definitely attracted to a lot of things about her. 'My place isn't far, Alex,' she said. 'I don't usually do this. Come home with me. Jus'walk me home.' Her place was only ten blocks away, so I walked Macy there. Actually, she had a little trouble walking and her speech was slurred. I put my arm around her, held her steady. Mac/s apartment was on the ground floor of a town house near the university. It was minimally furnished. The walls were painted a pale green. Against one wall was a black lacquered upright piano. A framed magazine article about Rudy Crew caught my eye. The educator's words were set in large type: 'Education is about the distribution of knowledge . . . and to whom we actually distribute this particular commodity is a major question in this country.' Macy and I held each other and cuddled for a moment on the living-room couch. I liked her touch, the way she kissed. This wasn't -------------- 112 --------------
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right, though. I knew that I didn't want to be there. Not tonight anyway. Macy wasn't at her best right now. 'Good man's hard to find,' Macy said, drawing me close. She was still slurring her words a bit. 'You have no idea, no idea. So hard out there. It's hell.' I did have some idea about how hard it was to find someone to be with, but I didn't pursue the point. Maybe some other time. 'Macy, I'm going to head home,' I finally said. 'I liked seeing you again. I liked it a lot.' 'I knew it!'she exploded on me.'I expected as much! Just go, Alex. Go. I don't want to rucking see you again!' Before the anger had welled in her eyes, I had seen something beautiful and nearly irresistible. Now it was gone again. Maybe she could get back in touch with it, maybe not. Then Macy started to cry and I knew enough not to try and comfort her. I didn't want to be condescending. I left the apartment, with its beautiful piano and the wonderful quote from Rudy Crew. This woman wasn't right for me to be with. Not now anyway. Sad night. A good woman is hard to find too, I wanted to tell Macy. God, I hated dating.
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Alex Cross 7 - Violets Are Blue
Chapter Forty
The night with Macy Francis kept bothering me for the next couple of days. It was like a sad song that played in my head. I hadn't expected it to turn out that way. I hadn't liked what I'd seen, or felt. The look in Macy's eyes stayed with me: a terrible mixture of hurt, vulnerability, and anger that would be hard to soothe. I grabbed Sampson on Thursday night after work. We agreed to meet at the Mark for drinks. The bar was a couple of streets down from Fifth. Local hangout. Tin ceiling, wideboard pine floors, long, worn mahogany bar, ceiling fan turning lazily. 'Sugar, damn,' Sampson said when he arrived and found me sitting by myself, nursing a Foggy Bottom lager while studying the old Pabst clock on the wall. 'You don't mind me saying, you look like shit, man. You sleeping all right? You still sleeping alone, aren't you.' 'Good to see you too,'I said to him.'Sit down and have a beer.' Then Sampson wrapped one of his mammoth arms around me. He hugged me as if I were his little kid. 'What the hell is going on with you?' he asked. I shook my head. 'Don't know exactly. The manhunt on the West Coast went real bad. I mean, it dried the hell up. There's no word on Betsey Cavalierre's murder either. Had a date the other night. Just about has me swearing off dating for the rest of my life.' Sampson nodded. 'I know the words to that sad song.' He ordered a Bud from the bartender, an ex-cop we both knew Tommy DeFeo.