Trunk Music - Michael Connelly [54]
They made love with an intensity that Bosch had forgotten that he had. It was a bruising, huffing physical act devoid of love, invigorated and driven solely, it seemed, by lust and maybe a memory. When he was done she pulled him toward her, into her, in rhythmic thrusts until she, too, reached her moment and subsided. Then, with the clarity of thought that always comes after, they became embarrassed about their nakedness, about how they had coupled with the ferocity of animals and now looked at each other as human beings.
“I forgot to ask,” she said. “You’re not married now, are you?”
She giggled. He reached to the floor to where his jacket had been thrown and pulled out the cigarettes.
“No,” he said. “I’m alone.”
“I should’ve known. Harry Bosch, the loner. I should’ve known.”
She was smiling at him in the darkness. He saw it when the match flared. He lit the cigarette and then offered it to her. She shook her head no.
“How many women have there been since me? Tell me.”
“I don’t know, just a few. There was one, we were together about a year. That was the most serious one.”
“What happened to her?”
“She went to Italy.”
“For good?”
“Who knows?”
“Well, if you don’t know, then she isn’t coming back. At least to you.”
“Yeah, I know. That one’s been over a while.”
He was silent for a moment and then she asked him who else there had been.
“There was a painter I met in Florida on a case. That didn’t last long. After that, there’s you again.”
“What happened to the painter?”
Bosch shook his head as if to dismiss the inquiry. He didn’t really enjoy reviewing his ill-fated romantic record.
“Distance, I guess,” he said. “It just didn’t work. I couldn’t leave L.A., she couldn’t leave where she was.”
She moved closer to him and kissed him on the chin. He knew he needed a shave.
“What about you, Eleanor? Are you alone?”
“Yes…. The last man to make love to me was a cop. He was gentle but very strong. I don’t mean in a physical way. In a life way. It was a long time ago. At the time we both needed healing. We gave it to each other….”
They looked at each other in the darkness for a long moment and then she came closer. Just before their mouths met she whispered, “A lot of time gone past.”
He thought about those words as she kissed him and then pushed him back on the pillows. She straddled him and started a gentle rocking motion with her hips. Her hair hung down around his face until he was in a perfect darkness. He ran his hands along her warm skin from her hips to her shoulders and then underneath to touch her breasts. He could feel her wetness on him but it was too soon for him.
“What’s the matter, Harry?” she whispered. “You want to rest a while?”
“I don’t know.”
He kept thinking of those words. A lot of time gone past. Maybe too much time. She kept rocking.
“I don’t know what I want,” he said. “What do you want, Eleanor?”
“All I want is the moment. We’ve fucked everything else up, it’s all we’ve got left.”
After a while he was ready and they made love again. She was very silent, her movements steady and gentle. She stayed on top of him, her face above him, breathing in short rhythmic clips. Near the end, when he was just trying to hang on, waiting for her, he felt a teardrop hit his cheek. He reached up and smeared the tears on her face with his thumbs.
“It’s all right, Eleanor, it’s all right.”
She put one of her hands on his face, feeling it in the dark as if she were a blind woman. In a short while they met at the moment when nothing in the world can intrude. Not words or even memories. It was just them together. They had the moment.
He slept on