Free The Dark of Day by Barbara Parker

didn’t talk much about his work. Just another day at the office. Billy had bought South Florida real estate when it was cheap, then a hotel on Antigua that had a small casino attached.
    He said, “Why do you want to do a show on CNN anyway? Those talk shows are inane.”
    â€œMine wouldn’t be. I’d have intelligent guests with something to say.”
    â€œYou’d be famous,” he said.

    â€œI could learn to live with that.”
    â€œYou think so? People in your face all the time. No privacy.”
    â€œI’ll hire bodyguards to keep the crowds back when I get into my limo.”
    â€œWho is that sexy blonde behind the sunglasses?” Billy’s smile deepened the lines at his eyes. “C.J. Dunn. Yes, I know her. She slept with me last night, doing unmentionable things.”
    â€œWould you still like me if I were rich and famous?”
    â€œI might like you more. Right now, you’re only beautiful.” He poured himself more wine, and the deep red liquid swirled and made streaks down the glass. The blood-heavy scent of it zinged into her nostrils.
    â€œThere’s dessert,” Billy said. “Some kind of pie.”
    â€œGod, no, I’m full.” She helped him carry things to the sink. The maid would wash them in the morning.
    â€œAre you going to stay tonight?”
    â€œDo you want me to?”
    â€œNo. I was asking to be polite.”
    â€œFine. I won’t, then,” she said.
    â€œIt’s your loss.”
    She laughed. “You’re horrible. You really are.”
    He slid his hands up her arms. “Of course I want you to stay.”
    â€œAll right, but I’m leaving early. I have things to do in the morning.”
    â€œLove your enthusiasm,” he said.
    â€œI love yours.” She kissed his cheek, rough with a day’s worth of stubble. The bridge of his nose was slightly out of line, but you had to look hard because a plastic surgeon had done a good job putting it back together.
    A year ago, with a blood-alcohol level of one point eight, Billy Medina had crashed his Maserati into a guardrail, his second DUI. Billy’s attorney worked out a deal: no jail time if he went to AA meetings for six months. He came to the same small group C.J. had joined, a Methodist church in a nowhere residential district on the Beach. She was avoiding the downtown groups, the lunchtime or after-work meetings where there were far too many other lawyers with alcohol problems. She hadn’t recognized Billy at first, with the bandage over his nose, but soon they were going out for coffee after the meetings, or having a late dinner, C.J. stifling her laughter as Billy imitated the sappy stories they’d just heard. They started moving
around to other meetings, not wanting to be known, not wanting to get involved with the real drunks, who might ask for favors.
    Billy did his six months. C.J. stayed for a while, but she didn’t have time, or she didn’t like opening herself up to strangers, or maybe it was just too boring without Billy. So she quit too. She had stopped drinking, so what was the point? Her sponsor kept calling for a while, then gave up and wished her well.
    The longing to drink still came on her, but not as often, and she was always able to fight it off. What she liked about Billy, among other things, was that he didn’t nag her about it. What he liked about her was that she didn’t expect him to save her. Whatever she chose, it was up to her. Billy made no demands. He never pushed. If she wanted to be with him, fine. If not, he wouldn’t hold her. It was liberating. Sometimes a little lonely, but as Billy would say, if you don’t like the view, move on. She had tried to do that. She had tried. She had given up alcohol, but she couldn’t give up Billy.

chapter SIX

    judy Mazzio put the handicap tag on her rearview mirror and gave forty bucks to an off-duty cop to let her park beside a