Free The Burglar Who Counted the Spoons (Bernie Rhodenbarr) by Lawrence Block Page B

didn’t expect to get such a fabulous dinner out of it. When you suggested Italian, I figured we’d go to some red-sauce joint on Thompson Street.”
    “And look where I took you. Maybe I was husband material after all.” She was shaking her head. “No? Why not?”
    “How could I even consider marrying a man impulsive enough to blow two hundred dollars on a meal?”
    “Maybe I’m a gentleman of means,” I suggested. “Maybe two hundred dollars is nothing to me.”
    “Bernie, don’t take this the wrong way. Your store doesn’t do any business, and when your lease is up you won’t be able to afford the rent increase.”
    “For all you know,” I said, “I own the building.”
    “And for all you know I’m Queen Marie of Romania. No, everything I saw made it clear you wouldn’t be standing next to me when I tossed my bridal bouquet. And that was kind of a relief, because it meant I could sleep with you.”
    “And otherwise you couldn’t?”
    “Not on the first date, silly, and probably not on the second or third, either. But you and I were only going to have one date, so why not make the most of it?”
    “Well, we certainly did that,” I said. “You’d have thought you were trying to cram a whole relationship into a couple of hours.”
    “I was.”
    “And you’re trying to deny it now,” I said, “but the way you behaved in bed suggests that maybe you sensed more of a future for us than you let on.”
    “You are so wrong.”
    “I am?”
    “Bernie, if I’d thought that, tonight wouldn’t have been anything like this. We did some pretty wild things tonight.”
    “No kidding.”
    “Some of it, it’s not the sort of thing you do with a future husband. It’s not even the sort of thing you do after you’re married, not for a couple of years, anyway.”
    “Because you wouldn’t want him to know what kind of woman you are?”
    “Of course not. But if we’ve only got one night, and you’re never gonna see the guy again—”
    “Then what the hell, why not go for it?”
    “Exactly. And one thing I knew, as soon as I knew we weren’t going to get married, is that I wanted to try absolutely everything with you.”
    “And I guess we did.”
    She got a look on her face. “Well,” she said.
    “Well what?”
    “Well, there’s this thing I’ve never actually tried. I’ve just read about it, and you might think it’s weird or sick or disgusting.”
    “What is it?”
    “If I tell you,” she said, “you’ll think I’m weird and sick and disgusting. But so what? We’re never going to see each other again.”
    She put her mouth to my ear, gave my earlobe a quick nibble, then whispered.
    “Well, Bernie? What do you think?”
    “I think you’d better take your blouse off,” I said, “and come back to bed.”
    ∗    ∗    ∗
    “You’d better stay over,” I said. “You’ll never get a cab to Brooklyn at this hour, and God knows you don’t want to take the subway.”
    “Oh, Bernie.”
    “You don’t live in Brooklyn, do you?”
    “I could have walked home from the restaurant. I made up Brooklyn so I could see your apartment.”
    “And so I couldn’t see yours?”
    “Oh, Bernie.”
    She was dressed now, and putting on lipstick, checking her reflection in the mirror on my closet door.
    “I won’t ask for your number,” I said. “But you know how to get in touch with me.”
    “I won’t, though.”
    “The husband hunt can’t spare a couple of hours?”
    “It’s not that,” she said, and turned to face me. “One night was fine. If I saw you again, well, we’ve already done everything, haven’t we? It would almost have to be a letdown.” She lowered her eyes. “Or if it wasn’t, I might fall in love with you, Bernie. And that would be a really bad idea.”

 

    “Straight women,” Carolyn said. “I’ve never understood them and I always will.”
    “Amen.”
    “How do you feel, Bern? Used and abused?”
    “If I had the energy to feel much of