Twisted Agendas Page 16

  No-one spoke when Danny picked up the receiver. All he heard were two rapid batches of clicks, as if someone were punching out Morse code followed by static.

  “Hello,” he said.

  Still no-one spoke. He had a sense someone was on the line. There was a click and then the dial tone came on.

  “Probably a wrong number,” he said.

  “Maybe Special Branch’s still on my tail.”

  “But they released you.”

  “Only because they couldn’t find anything to charge me with when they didn’t find my fingerprints on the Semtex and whatever else they found in the shed. They tried to pin something on me because of the interview notes. Can you fucking believe it?”

  Danny didn’t reply.

  I said the notes are mine, so of course my prints are on them. I was real pissed. I demanded they allow me to contact the US Embassy. They stormed into the house when I was still in my robe and didn’t even want to give me time to clean up before dragging me off to the precinct. But I told them I had the right to get properly dressed.”

  “We do?”

  “I’ve been researching the IRA long enough. Those guys know the law.” She paused. “I also told the cops about Dad and demanded they contact him at work and he’d verify I’m a legit’ student.” When she rose, he could see she was in pain.

  “They talked to one of my professors at the LSE. He gave them a brilliant reference, or so one of the nicer cops told me. The embassy was cool, too. I was real surprised how helpful they were. They gave me the name of an attorney who represents Americans over here and he came to the station and gave ’em hell. Told them my notes weren’t subversive and they had to let me go.” She laughed but it sounded hollow. “Just as well they didn’t check I don’t vote Republican in presidential elections.”

  Despite the attempt at humour, he saw deep vulnerability in her eyes. “It’s over now.”

  “I’ve got to go back and sort out the place.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “Todd’s on his way over but I don’t feel like being alone there.” She smiled. “I’m really glad we’ve become friends, Danny. I sensed on the ferry we’d things in common.”

  Back in the Big Apple

  The waiting on the tarmac always rattled Piper because it gave her too much time to imagine the horrible possibilities. Wandering around duty free had relaxed her because the takeoff, with its attendant dash down the runway and disconcerting fuselage shudders as the jet became airborne, was not yet impending enough to whip up her primal terrors. Now they were raging. It made things easier to have Todd sitting next to her. Piper was staying with her old NYU roommate in the West Village and she was glad Todd was spending two nights with her before flying off to visit his parents in San Francisco.

  There was a sudden jolt. She leaned over Todd and peered out the window and saw the plane was reversing from the gate. Ten minutes later, the pilot announced in a British accent, the type of calm British accent that always reassured her everything would go smoothly, that they were next in line for takeoff. He ordered the cabin crew to take their seats. Immediately, she picked up the in-flight magazine on her lap and tried to busy herself with an article she’d already begun. This was a departure trick she’d learned from experience. She had to begin an article while on the ground, just a paragraph or two to get her interested, and then pick up where she left off as the plane did its final turn and the engines hurtled to maximum speed. If the article was begun while barreling down the runway, her effort was doomed to failure.

  “We’re officially outta here, hon,” Todd said.

  She already knew that because she’d heard the wheels fold into the undercarriage.

  “Wow. Catch a look at the number of planes on the ground.”

  “Busy reading here,” she said.

  He laughed. “Sorry.”

  Half-an-hour later, following an announcement from the cockpit that the weather was cooperating and the flight to Newark would be calm and on schedule, and with a glass of Bordeaux now on the pullout tray (another small bottle stuffed into the seat pocket thanks to the generosity of the friendly cabin steward), Piper returned to her old self. She gave Todd a kiss before starting to peruse the in-flight magazine again.

  After landing, they took a taxi to her friend’s townhouse, one they shared for the last two years she was at NYU. Situated in a quiet street near the 1 and 9 subways, the three-story rental was one of a group of four townhouses with a brick façade painted burgundy. White shutters framed the windows, five of which hung lopsided from broken hinges. Nestled between two older single-family houses, entry to the complex’s brick paved front garden was through a heavy wrought iron gate containing a weathered sign ‘Private Court’. Two towering buttonwood trees whose trunks and gnarled limbs were sheathed in ivy rose above the roofline. As she crossed the yard to the door, Piper saw Vanessa seated at the table by the ground floor window, her dark hair turned coppery from the glow of an overhead lamp.

  As svelte as Piper though two inches taller and slightly broader, they kissed one another excitedly and danced around the room holding hands like they were back in kindergarten. Todd watched them amused. Piper realised how much she’d missed her friend, though their friendship was the sort that lasted a lifetime. It didn’t matter how long they spent apart. They simply picked up where they left off.

  When Vanessa left to fetch champagne, Piper looked around the old apartment, unchanged except for a buttery leather sofa, two matching armchair recliners and a wall to ceiling bookcase made of solid mahogany. A tacky rhinestone framed mirror bought on a whim one afternoon still hung on the wall and an old bearskin they’d found among the rubbish outside the apartment still covered the deep scratches on the wood floor.

  A twinge of jealously caught Piper by surprise when the three of them clinked their champagne flutes together. In two years Vanessa would be a successful senior editor at a publishing house, living on the Upper West or East side in a gorgeous apartment, attending the hottest Manhattan parties while Piper still didn’t know what she’d be doing.

  Despite Vanessa having to leave for work at seven the next morning, she fetched beers after the champagne was finished and they began to catch up on mutual friends now scattered throughout the country. An hour later, Todd said he was tired and went to bed. The friends chatted until one-thirty before retiring. Not even the rattle of an ancient air-conditioning unit wedged into the bedroom window stopped Piper from falling quickly asleep.

  She awoke to the morning sun streaming through the grimy bedroom window.

  “Hey, honey bun. How’s your head?”

  “We didn’t get rat-assed if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  He leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. The kiss grew more passionate and he put his hand on her right breast.

  “Not now.”

  “Aw, come on. It’s my first time in Manhattan with you.” He pouted. “We have to.”

  She looked at him with mock sternness. “You don’t have protection.”

  He fished under his pillow and held up a condom.

  “Got it all planned out, huh?”

  “Like I said, first time in Manhattan.”

  “I need to brush my teeth first.” She climbed out of bed. “You do, too.”

  Whether because Sonia’s unorthodox therapy session had inadvertently untangled something within Piper’s subconscious or due to the novelty it was indeed the first time with Todd in her home city, their lovemaking flowed spontaneously. For the first time, Piper experienced tiny flashes of desire within her body. She enjoyed the firm touch of his pressed lips against hers, his warm palms cupping her breasts. Her skin tingled as he began to gently explore the curves of her torso and hips. Things did fall apart toward the end as once more, finding climax unobtainable and anxious she was taking far too long, she reverted to faking it. But she’d wanted him physically and that was progress. Sustainable progress.

  She propped herself up
on the bed using her elbow as support and watched until he turned his face to look at her.

  “Todd, if we’re going to live together, I need to tell you something.”

  “Sure.”

  “This is hard to say.”

  “There’s nothing we can’t say to each other.”

  “Okay.” She hesitated. “I’m not into sex so much.”

  “What do you mean?” His eyes narrowed.

  “Don’t think it’s to do with you or anything.”

  “What am I supposed to think?”

  “The reason I’m telling you this is I want to get it right with you. I want us to be happy and that includes sex because I know it’s important to you.”

  She could see his confusion. He turned away and stared at the wall.

  “Truth is I’ve never wanted to have sex much and did it only because I figure everybody’s doing it so it must be normal.”

  He turned back to her. “I never would have guessed.”

  “Don’t get all facetious on me.”

  “I meant that you’ve felt this way all along.”

  Piper sighed. “I spoke to Sonia Berg about it.”

  “So that’s the private matter you guys discussed.”

  Piper stiffened. “What did she tell you?”

  “Nothin’. He cocked his head. “So what’d she say?”

  “The therapy session was a bit unorthodox but it helped me realise I’m maybe one of those people who just doesn’t care about sex.”

  “Asexual, you mean?”

  His eyes darted toward the door and she wondered if he was mentally opening it.

  “Where does that leave me?” he continued.

  “I wanted you just now,” she said. “It’s the first time I’ve ever wanted anybody. That’s a good sign.”

  His head whipped back to her. “That means you can’t be asexual.”

  She placed her hand lightly on his chest. “You want us to get close, right?”

  “I thought we were.”

  “Closer, then?”

  “Sure.”

  “I promise it’ll be fine, Todd.” She hesitated. “Down the road it might mean you and me talking to Sonia as a couple. We might also have to take supervised instruction from her.”

  “Supervised instruction? Sounds kinky.”

  “It’s not, and only if I need more therapy.”

  He pulled himself up on the bed. “Whatever it takes to get you right.”

  “So you’re swearing on your Grampa’s grave you haven’t gotten yourself in trouble with the authorities over there?” her father said.

  He was relentless. His gaze was unblinking and penetrating, just like she remembered on the day he’d come into her bedroom years ago. He’d come in to grill her about smoking pot when her mother had come upon her stash and told him to deal with it because she was done with Piper’s lies.

  She matched his stare. “I fricken swear, Dad.”

  They were in an Irish restaurant-cum-bar on Forty-Sixth Street and Sixth Avenue. Downstairs, signed photographs of New York Yankee and Mets ballplayers and mugshots of a young Cassius Clay adorned the walls, but, as Piper had made her way up to the second floor bar, the ambience had grown increasingly native. Posters of their national sports heroes including the famous showjumper Paul Darragh and framed Gaelic football jerseys representing a bunch of Irish counties ran along the wall of the barroom toward the open French doors of the street-facing balcony. The draft beers were imported because many of the patrons had accents as velvety thick as the Guinness she was drinking. Through the French doors, Piper could see the sagging defined head and upper chest of Christ as he hung from his huge concrete crucifix attached to the façade of the Episcopal Church across the street.

  “You know her name’s not Piper, right?” Her father picked up his glass of soda.

  “Dad, enough already.”

  Her father’s eyes cut from her to Todd. Despite his sunny grin, she saw him look Todd over in that cold, measured New York cop way that was enough to make innocent people squirm or plead guilty just to get away. At forty-four, in his navy cargos and shirt that had his surname spelled on the front pocket, NYPD patches and sergeant stripes on its sleeves (short sleeves because of the ferocious August humidity inhabiting the city’s canyons and streets), her father still cut an impressive figure. People noticed him, certainly some of the barflies who turned on their high backed wooden stools to peer discretely (or so they thought) at him through gaps in the lunchtime office crowd. Even the dour barmaid kept coming over to the nearside corner of the bar on the pretext of wiping down the counter to land an eyeful.

  Piper was secretly thrilled Todd didn’t flinch, instead tossed him a casual shrug to convey he wasn’t bothered.

  “Did you hear what I just said, Todd?” her father continued.

  “She’s Piper to me, sir. She’s been working real hard at school, too.”

  The ‘sir’ and allusion to her hard work did the trick. She’d known it would. Her father gulped down the last of his soda and asked if they wanted another beer.

  “Wow, he sure is one tough cookie,” Todd said.

  Piper didn’t reply as she watched her father ordering from the barmaid who’d a grin on her face like a performing seal.

  “I don’t know him so good, but from what I’ve seen, there’s a lot of him in his daughter.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Todd’s eyebrows raised. “He’s direct. I like that.”

  “Haven’t seen her round here before,” Piper said, nodding vaguely in the direction of the barmaid as her father approached. “She just off the boat?”

  “She’s been here a while.” Her father slid their drinks across the table. “Don’t mind telling you I nearly fainted when that Special Branch cop came on the line to ask about you.”

  “Aw Dad, no more of the cop stuff, please. Pat’s in jail now. It’s over.”

  “Fair enough.” Her father turned to him. “You’re from free-rollin’ California, huh? Growing up there must have been a lotta fun. Tell me some about your life there.”

  Making a move

  It was one of those summer days that made Danny feel especially happy to be in London. The underbelly of a passing jet gleamed white as a fish’s in the unblemished blue sky, the warm breeze carried the heavy scent of the late summer roses growing at the back of the garden. He’d been working for an hour weeding the flower border and around the shrubs.

  From inside the house, Katie called out someone was at the door and then warned Julia to hurry or they’d be late for a lunch appointment. Moments later, he looked toward the French doors and saw Finty watching him.

  “You’re early,” he said.

  “I still have to be home by six.”

  He peeled off the rubber gloves, immediately feeling the coolness as the sweat evaporated off the back of his hand.

  “Doing something fun this evening, eh?”

  “You’re doing a great job here.” Finty swept her eyes over the overgrown garden and scrawny lawn grass.

  This was one thing Danny noticed about her. Though he’d give her opportunities to discuss what was going on in her private life, she never availed of them. Of course he realised he had no right to expect her to, but it niggled him nevertheless.

  “Why don’t we sit out here and study today?” she said.

  Danny regarded the fan-backed wicker chairs and tall root bound rubber plants flanking them. He’d also promised Julia he’d repot them but hadn’t had the time. Or more truthfully, he’d been too lazy. She’d bought beautiful new pots a month ago and asked a week ago if he still planned to transplant them for her. He felt guilty.

  “Let’s do that,” he said.

  Excusing himself, he left to freshen up. The phone rang when he arrived downstairs again.

  “Hello,” Julia said. “Hello. Who is this? Answer me.”

  She put the mouthpiece back on its cradle. It was the eighth anonymous call they’d had in a w
eek. Each time they happened, Danny thought about what Piper said the morning she’d arrived at his house following her release from jail, about how she thought the police weren’t finished with her yet. Maybe it really was the Special Branch. Maybe they’d followed Piper to his home and had now bugged his phone to eavesdrop or find out some things about him.

  “It’s definitely some prank or school kids playing tricks,” Julia said. “They’ll get bored. This happened to me a couple of years ago at my old flat.”

  “This isn’t all that unusual, then?” Danny said.

  “They’ll knock it off soon. Mine did. Just like that.” Julia snapped her fingers to emphasise her point. “I never heard from them again.”

  “Kann ich Dich eine Frage stellen?” he asked Finty. He sat back on the fan-backed chair and smiled.

  “That’s really good, Danny. Okay, my turn now.”

  “Seriously,” he said. “I want to ask you something.”

  She looked at him nonplussed.

  “I’ll say this in English because it’s far more complicated.” He smiled again to reassure her it wasn’t an interrogation. “We’re almost finished the course and I don’t know much about you. I know you’re a strict vegetarian. I know your puppy… whom I haven’t seen in a while and would love to, by the way.” He pulled a sad look. “You live in South London and have a part-time job you never really talk about.”

  “What else do you need to know?”

  “That sounds a wee bit harsh, Finty.”

  “It does?”

  “Yeah, you said ‘need to know’ like I’m being nosy.”

  “Aren’t you?” She immediately put up her hand, palm out. “That was rude. I’m sorry.” She went over to him and planted a kiss of apology on his cheek.