When Helen left school that day, she walked three blocks to Chinatown and bought a bag of groceries for the weekend before catching the bus home to Pasadena. She made do without a car because it took half her income to make the house payment. Her parents had taught her from an early age to work hard for what she wanted. She graduated high school as class valedictorian and went to UCLA on an academic scholarship. She worked part time jobs to pay for books and fun. When girlfriends from wealthy families were living in the dorms or getting apartments together off campus, Helen had continued to live at home. She began teaching at twenty-two and saved half of her salary for four years to make the down payment on the little Craftsman bungalow she'd bought two months earlier.

Hank and Peggy Healy had come to Pasadena in 1931, the year Helen, their second child, was born. They were attracted to the simplicity and integrity they found in the design and lifestyle of Bungalow Heaven. The Craftsman movement was meant to harmonize with its natural surroundings in the San Gabriel foothills. The area was a haven for intellectual and artistic types yet also provided a secure environment in which to raise a family. Helen could think of nowhere she'd rather live. Her house was one street over from her childhood home.

She stopped at her place to change clothes and then walked over to her parents'. Hank answered the door and embraced her in a bear hug. He liked to say he was built low to the ground for speed and stability. He lifted her off her feet, twirled her around and deposited her inside the house.

"Dad!" Helen laughed, "I'm way too old for that kind of monkey business. And so are you. You're going to put your back out again."

"Is that you sweetie?" Peg called from the kitchen.

"Hi, Mom." Helen greeted Peg and set her grocery bags on the counter. "Did you get the salmon from the fish market? I got leeks, carrots, and fragrant rice. I'm going to make something wonderful."

"Yes I did, it's in the icebox. We're feeding seven, I hope there's enough."

"Hugh is bringing his new girlfriend?"

"Yes, Lydia. And Henry and Jane."

"Terrific." Helen did not think much of Jane. Pasadena was not trendy enough for her. No, she thought, they had to buy a house in Hancock Park like that stuck up Vi Exley and her equally haughty husband. She figured it for an excuse to get her older brother Henry further away from his family. "Well at least I get to meet the lovely Lydia," she said, trying to find a bright spot in what could easily be a dismal evening.

"You'd better learn to get along with Jane if you want to be a favorite auntie," counseled Peg.

"What!" Helen gasped and spun toward her mother.

"Yes. I know I'm spoiling their thunder and you'll have to pretend like you don't know but I thought it would be better to prepare you." Helen chopped in silence, contemplating the cozy dinner scenario. Hugh with a girlfriend, Henry married and now Jane expecting, and their perennially single sister. All of Helen's peers were married with children. Peg watched her only daughter brood on the news and felt torn between her pride over Helen's accomplishments and her desire to see her settle down and start a family of her own.

At the table after the prayer, Hank asked his offspring the usual questions about their work and their lives. Henry announced they were expecting, "Somewhere around Valentine's Day next year," he said and smiled lovingly at Jane who blushed and looked extremely pleased as everyone congratulated them. Helen felt a stab of envy, and immediately pushed it down, alarmed at her own reaction. She asked herself what she would trade from her present busy, rewarding life for a baby and decided it was just foolishness. But still, she thought wistfully, a man who really cherished her would be lovely.

"How are things at school?" Hank broke into her reverie. He always saved her for last because he enjoyed her the most and didn't want her report spoilt by his sons rushing to compete. Helen talked about the new textbooks they had received due to her fierce lobbying of the school board, and of the little dramas in the student's lives.

"Oh!" She suddenly remembered, "We had a class visitor today." She turned to her brothers and Jane. "You remember Lt. White from the Exley's party last month? He spoke to my class today - about how the police can help them, and very eloquently too," she said, taking a sip of her wine. Henry and Hugh exchanged looks over her head.

"Bud White? Bud White came and gave your class the cops are your buddies talk?" Henry looked at her in amused disbelief. "Is Lt. White in charge of that program now, Hugh? I would have thought they'd give that to some desk sergeant, not a senior detective."

"It's news to me." Hugh said doubtfully as he scooped another pile of rice on to his plate.

"It wasn't part of a program. He didn't speak to the other classes. Just mine." Helen could not see the humor Henry found.

They both gaped at her. "Damn, you really made an impression on the old boy at that party," Henry teased. "Pass the potatoes."

"It wasn't like that," she shoved the bowl at him, "I was in the bakery, and I couldn't carry all the cupcakes for the birthday party, so he gave me a hand. Then in the classroom I sort of persuaded him to talk to the kids. It was a very positive experience for them," she finished defensively.

Both men were nearly doubled over with laughter. "So," Hugh choked, "he wanted to give you a hand with your cupcakes but you pulled a switcheroo and got community relations time out of him instead?"

"Boys!" Peg admonished. "That's enough! No more crudity at the dinner table, thank you very much." She turned toward her daughter, "He sounds like he was being a perfect gentleman dear, I don't know what's got into these two."

"What? All I said was 'cupcakes'?" said Hugh, the picture of innocence. He received a look of warning from his mother.

"No, really, my hat is off to you. I don't know any other woman who could have pulled that off. And I'm glad you didn't give him the time of day." Henry raised his wineglass to her.

"She could do a lot worse." Hugh never missed a chance to tease Helen, but he was not entirely surprised to hear about Bud's visit to her class.

"Oh come on, Hugh! The man is a thug!" exclaimed Henry.

"Why do you say that?" asked Hank who had been listening to his children's conversation with growing unease.

"Dad. You know those allegations your committee is investigating? Bud White makes some of those guys look like choirboys."

"Is this man bothering you Helen?" Hank was suddenly concerned.

"That's bullshit!" Hugh raised his voice. "There were extenuating circumstances back then. I hear Chief Parker was glad to get him back. He's fearless, it's true, but the man's ethics and methods are unimpeachable in my book."

"You know this man?" Hank's attention swung back to his youngest son.

"Yes, Dad, I do. He's teaching a class I'm taking in surveillance. We finish next week," he said and looked guiltily toward his sister.

Helen remained silent, mulling this information while the others spiraled off into more talk of politics and work. When they'd finished eating, she stood and asked Hugh to help her clear. He started to protest but then caught the look she was giving and followed her into the kitchen.

"You said you finish next week." Helen repeated. "He acted like he didn't know if you'd finished your training, and you're in his class right now."

"Yeah? So?"

"So why didn't he want me to know you were taking his class?"

"How should I know?"

"He also said he was working on a case at Central Station, but when I said that was where you were working too, he acted like he hadn't seen you." When Hugh wouldn't look at her, she stepped in front of him. "Are you keeping something from me?" Much as he liked White, he had never been able to lie to Helen.

"He asked about you. And he asked me not to tell you," he said with defeat.

"Why not?" she demanded.

Hugh knew that axe murderers could not strike the fear of God into men the way that Helen could. "'Cause he didn't think you'd be interested. I guess he was right, huh?" Hugh tossed the dishtowel on the counter and tried to stalk out of the room.

"Wait," she blocked his path. "What did he ask you?"

Hugh stood with his hands on his hips, enjoying this unusual bit of power over his sister. He was tempted to leave her dangling, but at last gave in.

"He wanted to know if you were seeing anyone," he confessed.

"What'd you say?" she asked intently.

"I said no, you'd decided to be an Old Maid schoolteacher," Hugh said smartly. Helen took offense and shoved hard against his chest.

"Liar!" she declared.

Hugh laughed and caught her hands so she could not assault him further. "Oh, and he was concerned about you taking the bus. Said there'd been a bunch of robberies lately. I checked it out, it's true, but they were in other divisions, not on your route. I think he was fishing for your address. I didn't tell him. He's doing pretty good detective work without my help," Hugh grinned, pleased with her embarrassed reaction. She turned abruptly away, not wanting to provide him any more entertainment, and composed herself.

She cut the cake for dessert and thought out loud, "I was so surprised to see him in the bakery."

Hugh bent toward her and said low, "Well you can bet he wasn't surprised to see you," and nodded sagely when she looked at him with sudden comprehension. He stuck his finger in the icing and she smacked his hand away as he said, "You should go out more. You're too young to act so old."

Helen wondered why she had refused Bud and decided it was partly out of habit, but also because she was afraid of his reputation. Now she wished she'd given him a chance.





It was hot and humid in early August and Helen was planting pansies in her front yard under a large shade tree. She stuck a gloved finger under a droopy little head and wondered whether it was going to be a wasted effort.

"I'm here for my haircut." Hugh came strolling toward her across the lawn.

"Go ask Mom. I'm busy."

"Mom and Dad went to Santa Barbara for the weekend, remember?" He flashed his dimples, "Besides, you do a better job than Mom."

"Why don't you go to the barbershop? Flat tops cost about a dollar."

"I'm trying to be more responsible with my money, like my big sister. And I want to look sharp when I go to the games." Hugh had been training all summer to compete in the All-State Police and Fire games. "You could come watch me work out," he offered.

She made a little hole in the dirt with her trowel, cracked open a peat pot, and stuck another flower in the ground. "Why would I want to do that?"

"You could see the Academy."

"We saw it when you graduated."

"I've joined the boxing team."

"Good for you."

"Come on Helen! I want Lydia to come watch me. She said she would if you did too."

"Forget it. I'm not wasting my afternoon so you can strut around like some bantam cock for your girlfriend."

Hugh regarded her bent back. He was hoping to avoid the hassle of this particular bribe, but it was time to bring out the heavy artillery. "Civilians are allowed to use the firing range if accompanied by an officer."

"Go on." Helen looked up from her flowerbed and shielded her eyes with a garden gloved hand.

"I'd let you shoot my gun," he offered.

She paused briefly, "Okay. When?"

He burst out in laughter. "You should have been a cop. There are lady cops, you know. 'Course they're all dykes."

"I hope you're not insinuating that about me!" she feigned indignation.

"Sometimes I wonder," he teased and ran as she threw dirt at him.

The team practiced the next day. He took her first to the observation deck above the firing range. She was relieved to see they were alone. A group of cadets in their khakis were taking practice with their instructor, Lt. O'Brien, a round and rosy cheeked classic Irish cop.

"We'll wait until the class finishes before we go in," he told her. Another officer stood at the end of the row and she found herself watching him. Each paper target flew out intact but returned with a gaping hole blown through the chest where he'd repeatedly hit the same spot.

"Look at that!" she exclaimed, highly impressed.

"What?"

"Number seven. That's about perfect, isn't it?" she asked.

Hugh gave her an odd look. "Yes it is. If you're shooting to kill." The group of cadets had finished practice but traffic jammed around number twelve's stall. Their instructor shooed them on by, then waited. Number seven holstered his gun, took off his headset and turned to Lt. O'Brien who clapped him on the back. Helen gasped.

"God damn it, White. How am I supposed to get these cadets to go for the shoulder or the thigh when they see you playing cowboy like that?" the older man asked sarcastically. The Department's official policy was to train cadets to wound rather than kill, but both these veterans knew that was bullshit. In most shooting situations, things happened so fast, you were lucky to hit the man at all. They sure as hell didn't stand still like the paper targets. You might only get one shot on the asshole drawing down on you, and you had better make it count.

"Guess it's a good thing I'm not their shooting instructor," Bud replied, a slight smile turning up the corner of his mouth.

Helen appreciated the display even more after she managed to hit the targets only once. Her arms felt like Jell-O when she was done, but she enjoyed it enormously. "That was fun," she smiled at Hugh, who checked his watch.

"Good. And now you have to pay me back. I've got to go glove up or I'll be late. Go meet Lydia out front and bring her back to the gym," he instructed before trotting off to the locker room.

Helen liked Lydia and liked her and Hugh as a couple. She was dark and smoky with jet-black hair and eyes, very striking next to Hugh's farm boy wavy blonde hair and blue eyes. The girls made their way across the campus, past the track with the gray sweat-suited cadets running laps who made cat-calls at them until their instructor threatened to add more laps. The building was eerily quiet as they stepped inside.

"It seems empty," noted Lydia. "Are you sure this is where he said?" They passed through the lobby and found the gymnasium with the boxing ring.

Helen said, "This is the place. Let's go have a look around. Maybe we'll find Hugh."

"No way. He said to wait in here and I'm staying put. There might be naked men back there." Lydia sat down and lit a cigarette.

"If I'm lucky!" Helen joked bravely and headed off in search of her brother, back out through the lobby and down a hall toward the only noise in the building. She had found the weight room and peaked cautiously around the corner. He had surprised her at the firing range, but now she didn't need to see Bud's face to identify him. Only a little bigger than average, he carried himself with such assurance and strength that he gave off the appearance of being much larger. He was working the body bag, not fifteen feet away. His tank and trunks clung damply to his brawny physique. Time slowed as she watched the muscles in his shoulders and arms bunch while his powerful thighs absorbed the shock of each blow. His skin glistened and droplets arced off as he shook his sweat soaked head. He'd pause just long enough to blink and swipe at his eyes with his gloved hand, trying to keep the stinging salt out. Intense concentration and harnessed fury showed in his face as he moved to the side of the bag and the pummeling began again.

Helen couldn't have moved from the spot if a fire had broken out in the building. A warm glow spread rapidly inside her and her heart began to race. She recognized the thrill as similar to the one she felt reading her crime novels or driving fast. It was the kind of giddy high she'd always waited for but never experienced from any man. An involuntary sigh escaped her and he stopped, blinked and looked toward the door. Helen darted behind it and held her breath in the dark corridor.

Hugh and the rest of the team burst through the front door, up the hall from her hiding place. They went in the gym, raucously laughing and taunting each other. Helen thought he'd spot Lydia and be annoyed she wasn't guarding his girlfriend. She scurried back up the hallway and into the gymnasium, taking her seat next to Lydia. After several minutes, the team came back out from changing and two men began sparring. Bud, now in clean blue shorts and white sport shirt, marched around the ring shouting instructions at them. He paused and glanced toward the folding chairs set up well off to the side of the ring and wondered why there were spectators that day. He looked back at the boxers, then back at the girl in the pink polka dot dress. Something about her seemed so familiar, he thought, staring in surprise as he realized it was Helen. She smiled and wiggled her fingers in a little wave. One of the team members had knocked the other down and they were all waiting for him to react.

"Right! Who's next?" he called distractedly.

Hugh stepped into the ring with another young officer. They began sparring but Bud was not satisfied with his form. He waved the other man off and gloved up to show Hugh what he wanted. Hugh had the potential to win them a medal, but not unless he learned to defend himself.

"You're going to get your clock cleaned if you don't protect your head. Keep your gloves up," Bud barked at him. The two began to bob and weave around each other. Hugh grinned at him.

"Something fucking funny, Healy?" Bud jabbed at him.

"Did you see my cheerleaders?" Hugh bobbed out of the way and looked over toward the girls. Bud refused to follow his gaze. Hugh tried to land a quick right but Bud was quicker and ducked out of the way.

"You've got to cheat to beat an old man?" Bud asked. Thud! He landed a punch in Hugh's gut. Hugh caught his breath and came at him again. They danced around each other while Bud tried to instruct him. "Up, damn it! Keep your gloves up!"

"She really used to be a cheerleader you know. I've got pictures," Hugh said.

"Yeah? How much do you want?" Bud couldn't resist asking. Hugh amused him even when he knew he should discourage him from being such a smart-ass.

Hugh danced closer and tried to cut a deal, "Let me land one good punch in front of my girlfriend and they're yours," he bargained, jabbing and missing again.

"Fuck you," gritted Bud.

"They wore really short skirts," enticed Hugh.

"You're twisted Healy, you know that?" Bud spat as Hugh succeeded in breaking his concentration. Bam! Hugh caught him on the chin and turned him around. Bud staggered a bit and saw stars. He leaned against the ropes as he heard the team members calling to him from a long way off, asking if he was all right. He shook his head to clear it and zeroed back in on Hugh, enraged that he'd nearly been cold-cocked. He lunged at Hugh and ripped him repeatedly, left, right, left, right. Hugh's gloves were up, then down, then up; he couldn't decide whether to protect his face or his ribs.

They could hear the other men yelling, placing bets. "Kick his ass Coach White!"

Bud forced himself to breathe deep and focus. You're the coach, he kept repeating to himself, don't beat the shit out of your star boxer. Then he caught movement out the corner of his eye. The girls were standing, hands over their faces, watching in fear between their fingers.

"Okay, next two," he panted. Bud helped Hugh out of the ring, a little rougher than necessary and growled low into his ear, "I want those pictures on my desk tomorrow morning."

Hugh was bruised but still bragging about his near knockout as the girls escorted him out of the gym after practice. Lydia was cooing that she didn't want to watch him fight anymore because she loved his face too much. Helen paused to look at the plaques in the lobby. They held little metal nameplates listing the winners from each year's competitions. Officer Wendell White, Pistols Champion 1948, '50, Revolvers Champion '49, '51. On the opposite wall were his boxing trophies, 1946, '47. He held only first place, no second place prizes. Helen concluded he must have limited himself to one event a year to improve his focus.





Bud was surprised to find he liked teaching the officer training courses. He even developed and implemented a new course in assessing and diffusing domestic disturbance calls. He told his students that the laws meant to protect women and children, including divorce and rape laws, were wholly inadequate. He showed them crime scene photos to impress his point that they were often the only things standing between a woman and certain death. In Bud's opinion, there was no more noble use of the badge. His views made him sometimes controversial among his peers.

He even liked coaching the boxing team. He had let himself go during years of general apathy, lacking the drive to stay fit. Bud knew this was reckless since there had been times when his lightening reflexes and stamina had saved his life. His return to the Department had brought back his sense of purpose and identity. As a result of working with the younger men, he had become more active again, and reaped the benefits of a flattened gut and increased energy. Sometimes he even walked to Parker Center from his apartment, taking the Angel's Flight tram down the hill.

He found himself craving more challenge and mental stimulation as well, since he'd stopped getting drunk every night. Lacking any real interests or social life outside his career, he enrolled in night courses at UCLA in the fall of 1959. He was relieved to find that the other night students were just like him, working adults who wanted degrees for career advancement. He needed just a few courses to complete the last year of his criminal justice degree. Bud had been to college as a young man, on the strength of his football playing rather than his academic skills. An orphan at twelve and a ward of the court, his mother's Catholicism got him placed in a boy's home. The head priest and a high school football coach liked him and helped get him a full-ride scholarship to USC. The school had ties through wealthy boosters to the Catholic archdiocese that sponsored his group home. He was an extraordinary running back, but he squandered his educational opportunities and passed his classes largely because of the school's need for him to make those miracle catches and fearless runs. He blew out his knee during a game midway through his senior year. The team had heard rumors of pro talent scouts in the crowd. One minute, he was a hero and all things were possible. The next, he was no one. That was a more familiar role for Bud. Good things rarely happened to him, and when they did, he could count on some terrible retribution in with the deal. He dropped out of school and tried to enlist for WWII but they wouldn't take him because of the bum knee. He decided to pursue the only dream he'd ever allowed himself. Bud was accepted into the LAPD Academy in 1943. Now he was finally finishing what he'd started sixteen years ago.

One night in early September he was in the library after his second class, looking for a novel to keep him occupied during his long, dull days off. Walking down an aisle in the fiction section he came upon a gap in the shelves. A pair of ample breasts incased in a hot pink angora sweater filled it from the other side. Bud hadn't had the pleasure of such female pulchritude in months. The barmaids who had once seemed so convenient now depressed him and he remained steadfast in his refusal of thank-you sex from women he helped on the job. He stooped to get a better look. There was a cross set with an opal nestled on the sweater. Recognition bells went off in his head. The woman in the sweater turned her back to him and sat down in the next aisle. He straightened and like a man facing a firing squad, slowly walked around the corner. There she sat, cross-legged on the floor in black capris, matching hot pink finger and toenails peaking out of sandals, twirling a strand of copper hair. She was so engrossed in her True Crime annual she didn't even notice him.

"I hope you're not going to scare yourself with that," he said looking down at her.

Helen let out a small yelp and dropped the magazine in her lap. She put a hand to her chest to still her heart, and looked up breathlessly at the intruder. "Lt. White! Hugh told me you were taking classes here," she said as she scrambled to her feet.

"You brother should think about becoming a professional snitch," he said stonily, which Helen found very funny. Bud heard her musical laugh and felt his chest seize up. He knew instantly it had been a mistake to speak to her, it was going to cause him nights of restless frustration all over again. He needed to get away from her as quickly as possible.

"I heard about the new course you implemented on domestic disturbance. May I say how impressed I am?" Helen flirted.

"Surely not all that impressed Miss Healy? Good night." Bud nodded curtly and turned away.

Helen was willing to risk the same rejection now she'd shown him months earlier. "Please, wait! I didn't mean to be rude. I had a class that night. There wasn't time to explain."

Bud stopped his hasty retreat and listened warily. "You weren't rude," he conceded. "Just not interested."

Helen winced. "I've wished so many times I'd said 'yes'."

Bud blinked, trying to process what she was saying. "So if I asked you to come have a cup of coffee with me now, I'd get a different answer?" he heard himself ask.

"Yes. Let me call Dad and tell him not to pick me up." She went to use the pay phone while he stood rooted to the spot, stunned at the evening's turn of events. Helen came back to him grinning like a naughty child. "I said you were a girlfriend. He's so overprotective, it's ridiculous."

"What's that you have?" She asked, picking up his book in the car. Her eyes grew wide, "Ooh, Chandler, he's good but I prefer Ross Macdonald. Have you read The Drowning Pool? No? You can borrow mine."

"You like that stuff, huh?" Bud couldn't take his eyes off her. Three months ago, he thought, she wouldn't give him the time of day and now she wanted to loan him books.

"Yes, it's thrilling," she enthused. "I read it alone at night and then I have to go to sleep with all the lights on. Why do you think I like talking to cops so much?" Helen replied, eyes dancing.

"I didn't know you did," he replied, but thought, better not tease too much little girl.

She pointed to the magazine on her lap. The cover featured an attractive young woman lying in a pool of blood. "I'll bet you've seen a few cases they'd want to print in True Crime." He didn't answer her. "Oh, come on, you can tell me if you change the names and the places to protect the innocent," she said, imitating the start of the Dragnet television series, her favorite. Bud glanced at her eager expression and smiled in spite of himself. He never spoke idly about work and surprised himself by telling her, "You hear about that ass - er, jerk whose first wife disappeared, then he cut up the second one into little pieces but the fu - er, deputies in Arizona let him go?" He had pulled into the parking lot outside an all night coffee shop and killed the ignition, but Helen was glued to her seat, hanging on his words.

"Yes. I read about him in the paper," she said, urging him on.

"I followed that case back out here from Arizona," Bud said.

Helen's eyes grew large as she looked at him in awe, "Are you closing in?" she asked in an excited almost-whisper.

Bud shook his head in disappointment. "No. I've tried to track him to several family properties..." he trailed off, suddenly aware he was telling a civilian too much, just to impress her. Annoyed with himself, he said, "I really can't talk about it," and exited the car.

"Okay," she said as he opened her door, "so long as you tell me all about it after you catch him," she put her hand on his arm as they entered the diner and he led her to a booth at the back of the room. They sat drinking coffee and talking until after midnight.

"So what classes are you taking?" Helen asked.

"I've almost got my BS in Criminal Justice. They have to pay me more once I get my degree," he smiled. "Why are you taking classes? I thought you had your credential," Bud asked.

She watched him closely. "I try to avoid telling people I'm getting my Ph.D."

Bud's eyes widened. "Your Ph.D.?"

"Yes, that's the reaction," she sighed.

"It's fine if it's what you want, but why?"

"Because I'd have more power to effect change if I were in Administration," she answered seriously.

"Don't count on that," he quickly responded, blue collar instincts kicking in. When he had first met her at the Exley's, he had feared she was an over-privileged, over-indulged intellectual. His experience of her in the classroom hadn't erased the idea completely, but it had showed him she had character. "You seemed powerful to me," he said, wanting to bite his tongue off. "I mean, you seem to be very important to those kids."

"Can I thank you again for talking to my class?" she smiled at him warmly.

"I didn't mind. I hope it did some good, it did me good," he said quietly.

"It did?"

"Yes. There was a lot of bad sh--, er, bad things that I saw as a kid. After I became a cop I found out that if I beat some son of ... a known spousal abuser ... to a bloody pulp then I got some relief. That day I talked to your class," he paused, working hard for the words to explain, "that was the first time I ever felt good like that without beating someone up."

Helen's heart lurched. "I'm so glad you felt that way. Maybe it will happen again. And please don't censor yourself. The men in my family swear and it doesn't bother me." She laid her hand on his arm, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes and wanting to comfort him. Without wanting or meaning to, he started revealing some of the horrors of his childhood. He'd told a few people by now, but it always left him so sad.

"My mother," he shook his head sadly at the memory. "She was beautiful."

"What was her name?" Helen coaxed gently.

"Elizabeth. They called her Beth,"

"You'd like my mom, she's beautiful too."

"You must take after her."

Helen blushed at the compliment, which he found even more enchanting. She told him about her family. "Mom took care of us for years, and now she works for the Red Cross. She was an Army Nurse when she was young. That's how she and my dad met. His parents were immigrants and worked the factories. He says it made them old while they were still young. The army paid his way through law school and he gave them ten years. They came to Pasadena at the start of the depression. Dad stayed twenty years at the Public Defenders and didn't join his firm until I was in college. Now they have more than they ever dreamed of and want to give back. Henry calls it 'liberal guilt'. I think they are just exceptionally good people."

She talked about her childhood as he drove her home, about playing hide and seek on twilight summer evenings, riding bikes to the park, working as a lifeguard at the community pool, babysitting all the kids on the block, and birthday slumber parties. Everything his youth was not. When he pulled up at the address she gave, he was impressed.

"You live here?" he asked.

"Yes!" her eyes gleamed, "Come on! I'd love to show it to you."

They stopped on the porch and she played docent, waving her hand like a pointer. "See the clean geometric lines?" She giggled, high on this new feeling. "Come inside. I added the blue stained glass in the door and window tops. Makes it feel cool and tranquil even in summer. Well, you really need to see it in the daylight," she qualified, chattering on nervously as she fished her house keys out of her purse.

Bud thought that if he went inside with her now, he wouldn't be coming out until daylight. "I'd better go," he said and was gratified to see her disappointment. "I'd like to see you again though. Can I take you out this weekend?"

"Yes. Wait. Darn! I've got the Teacher's Union meeting Friday night and Saturday is a bridal shower." She wrinkled her nose like that was distasteful. "I have to go, she's my cousin. Then Sunday I'm having dinner with my family. It's Mom's birthday." She hesitated. "Do you remember that my father is on the LA Police Commission?"

"Yes, I remember." He smiled at her earnestness and took hold of her hands, caressing them in his. "Why? Did you think it would change my mind about seeing you?"

"Henry says cops plant evidence and alter crime scenes all the time. They are going to name names."

"You're afraid of what they will find?" he asked and she heard the chill creep into his voice.

"You have a history." Helen kept thinking about Henry calling Bud a dirty cop. It just didn't fit with the picture she was putting together of him. Bud bristled. "Are you warning me?"

"I don't know." Her eyes shone liquid and dark. She didn't want to lose this wonderful new thrill, but feared he was trouble.

He sighed. "Do you understand that the Police Commission is an appointed group? Believe me, as it stands now, the Chief has them in his back pocket. I steer clear of the politics but ask any cop, at any level, and he will tell you that the Commission is a joke. They are grandstanders looking to build their political careers."

Now Helen bristled. "Hank Healy is not in anyone's back pocket. He is not a politically ambitious man."

"Then he is the only one," Bud replied firmly. Softening his manner, he brushed his thumb against her cheek. "I won't ask you not to listen because people will always talk. And I will always answer your questions honestly. I just hope you'll ask." She nodded, afraid to trust her voice. As he bent toward her, she closed her eyes and tilted her chin up. Amused, he watched as she held the pose several seconds before peeking at him. He kissed her gently, taking just her top lip, and then her bottom one. When he began to pull away, she linked her arms around his neck in a silent plea for more. He crushed her to him and took possession of her mouth, his tongue probing into her as she answered his passion. After several minutes both of them were breathing heavily. Bud disentangled her arms from around his neck, firmly pressing them back at her sides.

"If it's all I can get, I'll see you after class next week," he said quietly.

She blinked at him dizzily, "Okay. Goodnight." She let herself in and closed the door. Her heart hammered so loud in her chest it was hard to listen for his footsteps as he walked back to his car.

Bud spent the entire drive back to his place lost in a private stag film starring Helen. He told himself that he could have gone inside with her. She was ripe for the picking, he could feel it. It had taken a tremendous effort of will to walk away from her. He had an idea that he might want to do it more than once and it seemed like patience might yield better dividends than a one-night stand. Get a grip, he told himself as he pulled into his parking space, or you're going to need a cold shower. A rat ran out from under a dumpster across his path and he kicked at it. He walked up the stairs and opened the door to his tired apartment. Nothing cool and tranquil here, or even geometric, he thought wryly.

There had been no time to grab a bite between work and class and he had been too nervous with Helen to eat. Now hunger knotted his stomach. He walked in the kitchen and flicked on the light. The chipped linoleum on the floor and broken lampshade hanging over a kitchen table he never used depressed him. He tried to imagine Helen's kitchen. She'd have flowers in the window and it would smell good because she could cook.

He looked in the fridge. Take out carton contents dried beyond recognition. In the cupboard he found a can of beef ravioli. There was a can opener, but no clean fork. He stuck two fingers in, scooped out a square of pasta and popped it in his mouth. He rolled it around on his tongue. Smooth and plump. Jesus. Why haven't I ever noticed that before? He sucked the sauce off his fingers and imagined Helen splayed out across his bed. He dipped his fingers back into the can for another one and it made a wet sucking sound. He stared at the can, then shook his head in dismay. You are a sad case, he told himself, if canned ravioli makes you horny.





"If you get a car, we could ride in to work together," Hugh cajoled. His shift coincided with Helen's schedule that week so he'd decided to accompany her on the bus ride home.

"You mean I could give you rides everywhere," she interpreted.

"I'd pay for gas. Hell, buy a good one and I'll drive!" he offered magnanimously.

"Why don't you get a car?" she countered.

"I have a car. It's just not running right now," he explained.

"It hasn't been running for three months! You live with Mom and Dad. Why can't you afford a car?" she laughed at him.

"Cops don't make much money," he said defensively.

"They make more than teachers! You just blow it all. You really need to be more responsible," she lectured.

"Nah. You're responsible enough for the both of us. One of us has to be fun," he said, poking her in the ribs.

"I am fun! And since you brought it up, I have been thinking about getting a car," she revealed.

"Great! Let's just go look. Can't get into trouble just looking, right?" he asked excitedly.

The giant black and white cat waved to Helen and Hugh as they drove out of the Felix Chevrolet lot in her new used car. It was fast and sporty and made her pulse race. She hit the gas and squealed the tires. Hugh begged her to let him drive. Laughing, they hopped out and ran around to the other's side at the stoplight at Jefferson. He fishtailed down an open stretch of Figueroa. She let him drive it up the Pasadena freeway home.





Bud could barely concentrate through his class the next week. When it was finally over he forced himself to walk calmly to the library. She was at a table, making notes from a large, dusty volume. He laid a hand on her shoulder but it didn't surprise her. She'd been waiting for him.

"Give me ten minutes then we'll go," she promised without looking up.

"What makes you think I want to go? Maybe I want to stay and look at old, dusty books," he replied casually as his mouth went dry.

"Oh okay, you stay and study, but I'm going for coffee," she said, glancing at him finally. He sat on the edge of the table, admiring the snug fit of her sweater. He began bouncing a pencil on its eraser next to her book until she shut it in amused exasperation.

"Ooh! Guess what?" she asked excitedly, as they left the library. "I got a car! My first. Come see." She took his hand and pulled him across the parking lot. She stopped in front of a shiny blue ragtop.

"This?" Bud looked at her incredulously.

"It was a really good deal," she rushed to explain, still feeling guilty about the purchase, "It's a '58 and someone had just traded it in for the new '60. Can you imagine trading in a car after just two years? It only had twenty thousand miles on it and I saved almost a thousand off the price of a new one," she rationalized.

"This is a toy! This is not a proper car for a woman," he cut her off and began to circle it. "Did you take your dad or your brothers with you to pick it out? What happens if you roll it? You'll be a smear in the road!" he barked.

"Gee, you don't sound impressed." She was close to crying.

"Well Helen!" He spread his arms expansively, and asked, "It's not very practical for a teacher, is it? A foreign car is going to break down all the time and cost you a fortune!"

"It's not foreign. It's a Chevrolet - a Corvette. The new ones are much bigger, that's probably why you don't recognize it." Helen had wanted a little British MG but Hugh had given her this same speech.

Bud looked at her hard then walked around to the front of the car for a closer inspection of the grill. She was right. "I'll be damned. It looks like it fell out of box of crackerjack."

"I am perfectly capable of buying a car. I talked the dealer down an extra two hundred because it had a little dent and needed brake work. And not that I needed to but I did take Hugh with me, and he knows a lot about cars, does all his own repair work, so it's not like I don't have a reliable mechanic either," she said indignantly.

When he saw the blaze in her eyes and heard her accelerated speech, he realized he had overstepped. "I'm sorry. You're right, it's none of my business. I was only thinking of your safety."

"I don't need you to protect me," she huffed, her words sounding harsher than she meant them.

"I know." They stood staring at each other in an awkward standoff.

"Maybe I should go home."

"Don't I get to play with your toy?" asked Bud, thinking fast how to stop her.

She tossed him the keys and bounced into the passenger's seat. "Let's go up Mulholland. You can really get a feel for how she handles there. Help me put the top down."

He folded himself into the tiny driver's side and switched on the ignition. He chose to go up Observatory Drive instead. As they rose along the hills, she begged him "Go faster! I want to feel like I'm flying." She laid her cheek along the side and watched as the ground fell away from the mountain and the stars came down to kiss them. It was a full moon and there were stargazers on the Observatory lawn with their telescopes, the Griffith domes perched on top of the mountain like fat nipples behind them. He circled the lot and parked at the far edge where they could see the lights of the city below and of heaven above, but were well away from anyone else. On the facing hillside was the Hollywood sign, lit up like a marquee for lover's peak.

"I love it here," said Helen, "Look! A shooting star! And another! What luck!" She turned to him excitedly. "It must be a meteor shower tonight!"

But Bud did not want to look at the sky. "What luck," he echoed, brushing a windblown strand out of her face. She looked at him and her happiness at being there with him shone from her eyes. His hand lingered at the back of her head before he pulled her to him. He meant to take a little kiss, just a taste of her luscious, full mouth. But Helen tilted her head and leaned eagerly across the gearshift toward him so he kept going. As his tongue peeked out and touched hers, sparks flew off them like stars shooting across the sky. He wrapped his arms around her and she gave in to the temptation to run her hands across his broad chest. She felt the heat of him, and his heart hammering through his shirt.

Bud had the vague realization he hadn't necked like this since he was a kid and it was a strangely thrilling place to revisit. Helen's mind had turned to mush. She didn't care where they were or that she barely knew him. All she cared was that he not stop. When his kisses trailed down her cheek, she lifted her chin, offering herself to him. Bud nibbled and sucked at her exposed neck and at her ear until she began to squirm. He could feel goose bumps on her arms and cupped a breast in one big hand, flicking his thumb against a taut nipple. She trailed her fingers slowly along his leg, feeling his muscled thigh. He placed his hand over hers and nudged it higher. Her fingertips just grazed his swollen member. She pulled back in surprise, but Bud was not letting her go. He sought her mouth again and deepened his kiss. He took her hand and very deliberately laid it back on his lap. He shifted to give her better access.

Things probably would have gone much further if she hadn't heard the tapping. A light shining in through the window made her squint. They broke their clinch as Bud turned toward the blue uniform standing outside the car.

"Hey you two are going to have to take it someplace ... Lt. White, Sir!" The young cop, a recent student in Bud's class, dropped his flashlight. He fumbled on the ground then stood up. "My apologies, Sir. Have a good evening." He fled from the car as Bud gave him a look that said he was going to beat him to death. He watched miserably as the patrol car sped out of the lot, knowing there was no way in hell he was going to get what he wanted now. He decided to talk to a Personnel Captain he knew about getting that kid transferred from University to a permanent night shift in Southeast. When he finally let himself look at her again, she was smiling shyly. Her hair was tousled, her lips were slightly swollen, and her face was flushed. It nearly killed him not to touch her again. Neither said a word driving back to the UCLA parking lot.

"I liked it better when I drove you home. How am I going to get you alone now?" he groused, very unhappy with the evening's outcome.

"Take me out on Saturday," she suggested.





Bud was talking to two young officers about domestic disturbance calls they'd been on that had gone badly, suggesting things they could have done differently. He was pleased with the new class and felt it was going well so far. The Department had made it part of standard first year curriculum, and Bud thought that was a good start, although he wished it were required for all officers. He looked beyond the two and saw Hugh lingering in conversation at the back of the room.

"Healy!" he called out. "A word?" He wrapped up and the two officers filed out with the rest of the students, leaving just Bud and Hugh in the classroom.

"What's up?" Hugh asked.

Bud turned his back to him and began erasing the chalkboard, trying to hide his nervousness. "What's your sister like to eat?"

"How the fuck should I know?" Hugh answered, feeling awkward because Helen was what he'd wanted to talk to White about but hadn't known how to broach the subject.

"She's your sister!" Bud said in annoyance. "What's she like to do?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm taking her out Saturday and I want to make a good impression," Bud answered, setting the eraser down and turning around.

"She told me," Hugh admitted. "She said you test drove her car, but Cunningham, he's the guy that, um, interrupted you? He told me it was more like you test drove her," Hugh said. Tim Cunningham had gone through training with Hugh.

"And this concerns you how?" asked Bud as he crossed his arms over his chest and sat on the edge of a table.

"Like you said, she's my sister." Hugh pulled up to his full height and puffed out his chest. "I just wanted to warn you that if you treat her with anything less than absolute respect, I will kick your ass," he said and gave Bud his toughest stare. Bud appreciated his sincerity and devotion to his big sister.

"I take that as a serious threat from the 1959 LAPD boxing champ," he said and managed a straight face. "And I have nothing but respect for Helen."

"Oh. Good," said Hugh, relieved and a bit deflated that the conflict was over so quickly. "She's twenty-seven, I mean, she's older than me, so you might naturally think she's, ah, been around? But she hasn't, she's really naïve," he struggled for the words to explain.

"I don't think she'd appreciate you talking about her like this. Get to your point," Bud said irritably. This conversation was getting even weirder, he thought, and was feeding a fantasy he'd tried to ignore. He began to wonder again whether Helen had ever kissed another man like she'd kissed him, and jealously thought of the male teacher who was obviously courting her too. He knew it was irrational, this wish that she be untouched. He had never wanted that before, and had always appreciated an experienced woman.

Hugh nodded, "She's pretty independent all right. She'd be pissed if she knew, but I'm telling you this because you should be careful with her. She had one serious boyfriend. Vi Exley's older brother Ray Manning, he's at the DA's office with Henry. They were engaged, but she kept putting off the date. He thinks he's hot shit and he started messing around with other girls who were more eager to bag him. Now he's married but Henry says he pops every new secretary and clerk at the office," Hugh said.

"Then it's a good thing she didn't go through with it," Bud said as his stomach did flips at the thought of her married. "Does she hire you to come along and scare off the ones she doesn't like?" he asked.

"No," Hugh laughed, then turning serious, "but if I ever catch that asshole saying he dumped her, or saying anything at all about her, I am going to kick his ass." Bud laughed at him. "And then I'll come kick yours!" Hugh said, laughing too and the tension was broken.

"You'd better stop saying that or I'm going to make you try," Bud smiled.

"You know what's funny?" Hugh asked. "I thought she was upset because she called and begged me to take her out drinking right after they broke up. And I'd never seen her drunk. So I took her to this place near campus and she orders champagne, of all things. They only had this cheap shit and she sits there and drinks the whole bottle by herself. All of a sudden, she's telling every guy who will listen that she's free and happy to be that way. She was celebrating! I get up to take a leak and when I come back, she's on top of one of the tables, dancing to the jukebox. There must've been a dozen guys standing around that table and they were really enjoying the show, let me tell you. I took her out over my shoulder and very nearly got the shit beat out of me, they didn't want to see her go," Hugh finished blabbing and the huge grin he'd worn while reliving the memory slowly faded. "Maybe I shouldn't have told you that?" he asked uncertainly.

Bud shut off the light and held the door for him. "Don't worry, I won't order champagne. At least not on the first date," he promised.





Bud was there at seven sharp to pick her up. He was wearing his best sport coat and tie, the ones he'd just bought on clearance from the May Company department store downtown, but the coat did not fit quite right and he kept tugging at it anxiously. Helen had curled her hair in soft waves, pulling it up with a blue grosgrain ribbon. It showed off her graceful neck. She wore an ankle length blue skirt and a sweater with little pearl buttons. She'd opted for ballet style flats rather than her usual pumps, which made her look tiny as she stood in the door. He pulled a bouquet of blue iris out from behind his back.

"Oh Bud. How did you know?" Helen asked, genuinely touched.

"I guessed. All the flowers in your garden are blue, the stained glass, the car, three of your dresses, or four," he corrected himself looking at her outfit. She took the flowers and eyed him curiously. "You were only here at night, how did you know what color my flowers were?"

"I may have driven by a couple of times," he said sheepishly.

"I have to show you this," she said, guiding him into her little living room, and pointing to some Van Gogh prints hanging there. She indicated the Irises. "That one is my favorite. You are a terrific detective."

"I like this one," He admired the art and thought how he hadn't hung anything in his place.

"That's called 'Starry Night'. Do you know this artist?" she asked.

Bud was already impressed with her knowledge and superior education. Rather than spouting meaningless mumbo jumbo as he thought most intellectuals did, she cared about things that also interested him. So far when she talked about things he knew nothing of, he had hid his ignorance in silence, but he knew it was just a matter of time before she found him out. Here we go, he thought. What the fuck do I know about art?

"The guy that cut his ear off, right?" he took his best shot.

She caressed the scar on his cheek. "Vincent felt things very deeply. A lot like you." He was so surprised by this, he searched her face for hidden meaning, but she was sincere."Let me put these beauties in water and then we can go," she told him. Bud had thought long and hard about where to take her and given himself a big headache in the process. He started to give her a whole list of possibilities. "I trust you and just for tonight, I'd like you to be completely in charge, all right?" she said, laying her hand on his arm in a way that was becoming familiar.

He took her to the Santa Monica pier. The fall night air down on the beach was cool and damp. They ate at a little seafood place, really just a shack, but romantic with candles dripping down the side of Chianti bottles and the sound of the surf below. Bud never drank wine but he shared a bottle with her. They peeled bowls of shrimp and tore crusty hunks of sourdough bread, eating with their fingers. He impressed her with his skill at the carnival games, winning her a huge, ridiculous blue dog. The dog sat on the ground and watched as they rode the giant Ferris wheel.

They lifted off and he put a deliberate arm around her, making his claim. She laid a casual hand on his knee, careless in her flirtation. Looking up at the night sky he thought how it looked like the painting he'd admired in her home. The chair soared into the star-pricked blackness, catapulted out over the ocean, then dropped in a tummy-tickling rush as the lights and sounds of the pier floated back up. Helen looked at him in excited anticipation each time they reached the top, gripping his hand and laughing as they descended. Bud envied her easy joy. He felt a dizzy thrill too. Helen begged to ride it twice and he agreed, thinking he'd ride the damn thing all night if she'd just stay pressed up against him like this. He kept a balancing hand on her arm as she stepped off the tipsy chair.

"What next?" he asked, as they walked along the pier.

She spotted a photo booth. "Let's get our picture taken."

"I can't fit in there," he griped.

"Sure you can. You sit on the stool and I'll sit on your lap." Her eyes danced. Bud smiled at that and pulled out coins for the machine. She pulled him inside. He sat on the tiny stool and she perched on his knee.

"Now what?" he asked self-consciously.

"Now the little red light comes on and we make funny faces." The light blinked on and Helen stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes. A bright white flash left spots before their eyes. Bud's sober expression did not change.

"I don't make funny faces," he said flatly.

Helen, still facing the camera, reached behind and groped under his jacket. She dug her fingers into his armpit just as the light blinked on again. Bud giggled as the flash went off. Helen continued feeling along his torso for more ticklish spots but he had stopped laughing. Her movements caused her to slide more fully onto his lap and her groping was having a definite effect, just not the one she intended. He put his arms around her to hold her still as the red light blinked on. He kissed her shoulder. Helen's eyes flew open wide as her mouth formed an "o". Flash! She turned toward him and his mouth found hers as the red light blinked on for the last time. When the strip dropped into the little tray outside the booth five minutes later, the last frame showed them locked in a passionate kiss.

"You keep them," she whispered. Bud gladly tucked them inside his jacket.

They walked along the sand in the moonlight holding hands and talking. He was amazed she was here with him at all. Somehow he had tricked her, he didn't know how, but he was certain that at any minute she would see through his deception and vanish like a dream.

"You've made a good life for yourself already, and you're so young," Bud praised her, thinking of what a mess he had been at the same age.

"I'd like what my parents have, someone to cherish and care for, and kids, all of it, but I've never felt that way about anyone. And I'd rather be alone than settle for anything less than a Big Love," she replied, mocking herself by framing the words with her hands against the night sky like a marquee. She told him about her fiancé and admitted she hadn't loved him. "I don't date much. I tend to stop things before they start." Suddenly her penetrating, dark eyes were on him. "How about you?"

Bud was knocked almost breathless by her candor and her question. The girl pulled no punches. "Same here," he replied.

Helen looked at him intently, thinking that she'd just poured out her soul and that he was not getting away with a two-word response. "So you want a family some day? I mean, you're not as young as me."

"Um, no. I've seen too much of this world to want to bring a child into it. But I don't want to be alone forever either."

"Have you ever been in love?" she asked.

"I thought I was, once," he answered.

"You changed your mind?" she asked.

He rubbed his hand over his face. "It was a few years ago."

"So what happened?" she pressed, "Come on. I told you my hideous story."

"Look, she was wonderful, but I couldn't trust her, that's probably why I picked her." He looked at her impatiently. "Aren't you cold?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

"I don't understand. Why would you pick someone you knew you couldn't trust?" Helen shivered, but would not be put off.

"Probably for the same reason you give all those poor bastards the brush off. " He turned and headed back toward the pier.

Helen studied his retreating back and decided that was a fair enough answer. She caught up to him. "Hey," she tried to catch his eye, "I didn't mean to make you mad."

"I'm not mad," Bud slowed down and took her hand.

"So how old are you?" she grinned.

He looked pained. "Old enough to know better than to date little girls who ask too many questions," he said a little too sharply and saw the stung look on her face. "Thirty-eight," he confessed with a sigh and thought he caught her smiling slightly. "What? You think that's old?" he demanded.

"Not at all," she paid him back, "I'll bet there's a lot you could teach a little girl like me."

Oh yeah, thought Bud, there's gonna be nothing left of me but a smear in the road.

As he drove her home she wondered nervously about what would come next. She had been at war with herself for days in anticipation of this date. Nice girls never had sex this fast, but she suspected Bud did not care about rules like that. She'd had erotic fantasies about him since she'd seen him at the Academy. Tonight was by far the most romantic evening of her life. She wanted him to stay, but he was so polite and respectful, the trick was how to let him know.

Bud walked her to her door. Taking her face tenderly in his hands, he wanted to tell her she was the best thing he'd ever laid eyes on."You smell good," he managed instead. He placed soft little kisses on her forehead, her nose, and her lips. "When can I see you again?" he asked, hovering over her, breathing her in, not wanting to let her go.

"Don't you want to come in? Have a drink? Watch some t.v.?" Stay for breakfast, she thought and smiled. "I don't want to let you go yet." That sounded good to Bud. He held the screen door while she fumbled for her keys.

"This isn't my every day purse," she explained.

"I hope you always have your keys ready when you're alone. Same thing when you go to your car - especially at night. Always look around," he lectured in his police officer voice. As she unlocked the door, he was right behind, so that when she turned abruptly, he bumped up against her.

"Why?" She blinked big, innocent eyes at him.

"Because predators watch for unsuspecting females," he answered seriously, oblivious to her intent.

She pressed a hand firmly against his chest and felt his heart pounding inside. "Tell me, Lt. White, what could happen if some big, bad man got me all alone?" Helen was so nervous and excited she felt almost sick. There, she thought, that should be obvious enough even for him. She looked where her hand rested and trailed her index finger slowly down his chest, just inside the edge of his shirt.

"You'd better stop that," he warned, voice husky with wanting. If she were just teasing him she was going too far, this was torture. He couldn't remain a gentleman much longer.

"Why? I feel so safe with you," she purred, and slowly lifted her gaze back to his face. Her mercurial changes often left him guessing, but this one was easy to read. She wanted him. Joy exploded inside his chest as he bent toward her but she slipped away.

"I'll be right back. Make yourself comfortable." He barely controlled the impulse to snatch her to him. She disappeared into her bedroom. The little kitchen was to his left. He peaked in and found it spotless and cheery, a pie on the black and white flecked Formica counter, just like he'd imagined. There was a shelf filled with a collection of various salt and peppershakers, and his flowers in the vase which had tipped over on the counter, dripping water down the glossy red lacquered cabinets. A big orange striped cat was drinking at the pool on the black and white checkerboard linoleum floor.

"Hello," he said. The cat looked at him insolently and flicked his tail twice. Bud found a dishtowel and began mopping up the mess. Helen came in just as he was finishing.

"Buster's favorite trick is knocking over vases and cups, trying to drink out of them," she explained and took the towel from him.

Bud scratched the friendly cat behind the ears. "Buster, huh?"

"Buster Brown, catting it around, all over town. He warms my feet at night," she said.

"Lucky cat," he said. She took his hand and led him back into the little living room, switched on the television and settled in on the sofa. She kicked off her shoes and tucked her legs beneath her. He took off his jacket and loosened his tie.

"Would you like a drink?" she asked.

"Bourbon?"

"Milk, Coca-Cola, or iced tea."

He smiled. "Thanks, I'm fine."

"I could make coffee. Want a piece of pie? My mom sent one home with me last night. I keep telling her to give it to Hugh but she doesn't ... mmmph!"

Bud didn't feel like talking anymore. He crushed her against the sofa and kissed her deeply. Jack Parr was doing his monologue but they didn't hear the jokes. He touched his tongue to hers and she sucked at it hungrily. He trailed wet kisses over her ear and down her neck, making her pant with desire. The way he was sucking and biting, she knew there would be telltale marks in the morning, but she didn't care. He was so virile he made her feel weak and helpless and she was dismayed to find how much she liked it.

"Helen," he breathed heavily in her ear, "Last chance to tell me to stop." He searched her eyes, dark with desire, for the answer.

"Go!" she pleaded, her mouth bruised from his brutal kisses.

He stood and scooped her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he carried her into her bedroom, laying her tenderly on the bed. They pulled impatiently at their clothes, gasping as bare skin made contact with bare skin. He pulled her panties down her stocking clad legs, stopping to taste her. Helen stifled a scream. No one had ever done that to her before. He trailed his fingers through her damp curls as he prepared to take her. A look of consternation came over his face. Grabbing his pants from the floor, he fumbled in a pocket. He tore a small square foil packet open with his teeth. He rolled the condom on and was back over her in a minute.

"Look at me," he commanded. He took her hand and guided it to him. "Show me what you want," he rasped. Helen cooperated, lifting her hips. Bud moved slowly and deeply. She moaned and thrashed beneath him. She cried out, calling his name, then her voice dropped to a whimper. She ran her hands up and down his arms. He tasted her mouth again, grinding against her. "You like that baby?" he whispered and she moaned her approval.

Bud grasped her chin, willing her to look at him. He was determined to drive the memory of any other man right out of her mind. She heeded his silent demand. Their eyes locked as he picked up the pace. Two bodies engaged in the sweet struggle to become one. Short gasps of breath and whispered words of desire grew more urgent and then became sighs of satisfaction and release.

Bud propped on one arm and looked down on Helen's flushed cheeks and lips. They lay there, sweat drying on their bodies in the cool air.

"Wow," she said.

"Yeah," was all he could manage.

At last, Helen asked shyly, "So how soon do you think we can do it again?" "Were you really a cheerleader?"

"Who told you that?" she asked.

"If you still have the uniform I think we could do it again right now." She pulled the pillow out from behind her head and whapped him with it, initiating round two.





Bud was still drifting in and out of sleep. He knew he was in Helen's bed and that bright sunlight filled the room but he was in no hurry to move just yet. He didn't have to work today and it was so nice here, so much softer than his bed. He squeezed the pillow under his face and smiled sleepily. The smell of coffee hit him and he opened one eye to look for her but she had left the bed. He pulled the blankets over his head and savored the memory of the delight and curiosity she'd shown in his body.

After their first explosive coupling, she covered herself in a demure cotton chemise. Helen lit a candle so she could see him better and began asking for forensic details about his scars, searching for the entrance and exit wounds. She asked how each wound had happened, which he didn't really want to talk about, but he cooperated for a while. "And what did you do to him?" she asked.

Violence was a necessary part of his job, but not something Bud bragged about. "I killed him." He let her read the history on his body until she got to the scars his old man had left. That made weird echoes in his head and he grabbed her wrist to stop her busy hand from journeying on. "You should stop reading that True Crime shit. It makes your imagination run wild," he said.

"I'm sorry," Helen said, concerned at his abrupt change in tone. Bud silenced further questions by rolling back on top of her, taking what he wanted this time without waiting to ask. Her joy was as tangible as it had been on the Ferris wheel and it spurred him to feats he hadn't achieved since he was a much younger man.

"Like a damn drug," he muttered into the pillow. He tried to swallow but had no saliva left. There was a small jounce of the bed and then he felt her squeezing him. Just as he was about to protest his need for water, the squeezing turned to sharp little digs and he realized it was not Helen, but the cat, kneading his ass. He swept an arm behind him, knocking the cat off the bed and pulling the quilt half off him at the same time.

"Oh sure. You just pretended to like Buster so I'd sleep with you." Helen stood in the doorway in a bathrobe and big, pink plastic curlers, her hands on her hips.

"What's in your hair?" Bud blinked to make sure he wasn't still dreaming.

"You need to put those on and get out of here." She pointed to his pants and shirt hanging within view inside her bathroom.

"You hung my clothes up?"

"Do you always dump them on the floor? If you walked out like that, everyone would know you were here all night. The steam got most of the wrinkles out. No time to iron them." She flung off the robe and he was treated to a view of her in her bra and slip.

"I sing this morning. I tried to call my parents and tell them I'd drive myself today, but there's no answer. They must have gone out to breakfast. They could be here any minute," she said as she yanked a dress out of the closet and shimmied into it. "Would you like some coffee?" she paused, remembering her manners.

"Yes, coffee, black," he said as he turned onto his back and folded his hands behind his head.

"You think I look funny?" she smirked, pointing to her curlers. "You have pillow creases all over your face."

She left and returned with a coffee mug, thrust it at him, and darted into the bathroom. He could hear the curlers clattering into the sink as she hurried. He sat up and sipped his coffee, looking around her room. A Singer sewing machine inside a little maple desk sat open in the corner, an unfinished dress draped across the side. There was a UCLA pennant hung on the blue and white stripe papered wall. Pictures of Elvis torn from magazines peeked from behind her choir robe, hung on the closet door. She emerged with her hair done a few minutes later. He had not moved.

"I thought you were going to make me breakfast?" he complained, unable to resist teasing with her. He wracked his brain but could not remember a similar experience to this morning. The waitresses and barmaids he usually woke up with just wanted him to be quiet on his way out so they could keep sleeping.

"I would have, but you were sleeping so peacefully and I didn't want to wake you and then it got too late." She was trying not to panic in front of him. "Please," she wrung her hands, "they will be here any minute. You have to get dressed."

"Are you Catholic?" he smiled pleasantly enjoying her discomfort, and sipped his coffee again. "My mother was Catholic."

"No, we're Lutherans."

"Too bad. You could use a confession this morning."

She sat on the edge of the bed. "I know you think I'm funny. The good girl going to church, and it's all very square. I just hope you don't laugh about me later with the guys at work," she said earnestly.

He flipped back the bedcovers and stood. "I don't think any of that and I'm not going to tell anyone about last night." He handed her his empty mug. "You make good coffee." He emerged from her bed unselfconscious in the bright daylight.

"Thank-you," She finally managed as he disappeared into the bathroom. Then she heard the shower running. No time! She rushed about the house, tidying up any signs of the night before. Finally Bud was dressed and ready to leave, but he wanted a kiss goodbye. She pecked at him and nearly pushed him to the door.

"I'll make it up to you," she promised.

They could hear voices outside on the porch and then the doorbell rang. There was a long moment where she stared at him in frozen panic.

"I came to take you to church because I wanted to hear you sing. You were not expecting me," he coached her calmly. Then he opened the door for her. Peg and Hank stood on her porch looking at her with surprise and concern. They had seen the unfamiliar Packard out front. Helen repeated what he'd told her to say and Bud stepped forward to say hello and shake their hands. If her parents suspected any different, they did not let on. Helen was shaking as he helped her into his car.

Bud sat at the rear of the church and figured it had been twenty years since his last service. The Lutherans shared many of the same rituals as the Catholics and that helped him make sense of things, but he wasn't there to participate. When they kneeled, he remained seated. The altar boys moved passed him up the aisle with their candelabras and he remembered how proud his mother had been of him in those robes. He hated going to church. It reminded him of all the ways God had abandoned them. He wondered just how in hell he'd wound up there. If she'd asked him to come he would have said no. He knew it was irrational but he felt like she'd tricked him somehow. She had him doing all sorts of stupid things. He thought about how close he'd come to not using the condom. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept with a woman and not used protection. Then again, he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept with a woman he was absolutely sure was clean. But that was no excuse. What if he knocked her up? He felt strongly that the last thing the world needed was another unwanted bastard.

He was just about to get up and slip away when the organist began to play. He spotted her in the choir just as she stepped forward for her solo. Helen had a beautiful voice and he realized with a start that she sounded uncannily like how he remembered his mother. Bud managed to avoid her parents after the service and drove her home in silence.

"I'm so sorry," she began, after he had walked her to her door.

"Don't be. You have an angel's voice," He laid a finger against her lips to stop her. "But I am not going to church every time I spend Saturday night with you."

"Who said you'd be spending Saturday night with me again?" she tried to sound indignant at the presumption. He gazed steadily into her eyes.

"All right," she sighed, "I'll think of something. I'm not in the habit of lying."

"I know." He gave her a quick kiss and left. He was afraid that if he lingered at all he might never leave again. Helen watched from her porch as he backed out the driveway and went down the road. The leaves clattered and spun in circles on the ground as the breeze kicked up. She pulled her coat tight around her, suddenly cold. Autumn always arrived late here, just when she'd been lulled into believing in the Southern California myth of an endless summer. What if he'd been put off by the penance of church in the morning for the sins of the night before? What if now she'd given in so easily, he never called again? Suddenly despondent and missing him terribly, she went inside and fell on the still unmade bed. As she hugged the pillow he'd laid on, she smelled his scent. She quickly stripped and climbed back into the bed as memories of his warm and impossibly strong body flooded back over her.





Helen walked the children to the cafeteria then stopped in the teacher's lounge to retrieve her brown bag from the fridge. Raul was in the office and saw her down the hallway. When he got to the lounge, he was disappointed to see she'd gone. She stopped in the ladies' room to check her make-up and the still pink and chafed skin on her chin. Bud had been baby smooth at the beginning of their evening, but by the middle of the night his stubble had roughed her up a bit. Blushing slightly at the memory, she took her lunch back to her room so she could indulge in a crime novel. She pulled out the leftover roast chicken and recalled the tense dinner at her parents' the night before.

"You always want to help the little man, I know that, but the other members of the Police Commission are just jockeying for political power," she had boldly told her father. "All they want are convenient scapegoats, not real solutions." She'd read the Commission's reports and reached this conclusion even before Bud had shared his opinion. Still, she had to rehearse this speech several times in the mirror to find the courage. She had never had a serious disagreement with her father in her life.

Hank was no fool. "This wouldn't have anything to do with your new friend, would it? How long have you been dating him?" he asked.

"It's not about Bud, Dad!" she said, exasperated. "They're a bunch of hypocrites - and you're better than that. I'm also afraid Hugh feels like you're against him."

"Hugh has nothing to do with it." Hank regarded his daughter thoughtfully. "Don't you think an independent, civilian oversight panel is a good idea?"

"Of course, but as it is set up now, it's more of a farce. LAPD has Internal Affairs and review panels."

"Don't you think that's a bit like asking the bears to guard the picnic baskets?" Hank smiled tolerantly at his favorite child. "Why don't you ask Lt. White what he thinks about IAD, since he's dispensing opinions. One of the reasons the Commission was formed was to give the rank and file officers a break from what most of them perceive as harsh and arbitrary treatment by IAD."

She nodded, acknowledging she had more to learn, "Thanks, I think I will."

"Terrific. And while you're at it, why don't you invite him to dinner here?"

"I've only started seeing him, Dad," she replied miserably, wishing he'd let her off the hook.

"I don't like it that the first time we meet him is inside your home, early Sunday morning. Usually you bring your young men over to meet us. Maybe Lt. White thinks that at his age he doesn't have time for such niceties."

"I'm a grown woman. Do I have to bring every man I date over for your approval?"

"Tell me Helen, did he enjoy your singing? Will he be accompanying you to church next week?" Hank only stopped when Peg laid her hand across his arm and he caught her look that said he'd gone far enough. Helen made her escape as quickly as possible. The shame was a terrible and completely unfamiliar feeling. She was still trying to understand it when Raul gave a tentative little knock at the open classroom door.

"Mind if I join you?" he held up his sack and smiled hopefully.

"Not at all. I need to talk to you about something anyway," she said, glad to see him.

Raul hoped whatever it was would give him an opening to ask her out again. She had rebuffed his advances since school had resumed the month before. He had wondered if she was seeing someone else. She retrieved a book she'd found on teaching English as a second language. It was written for children and she wanted to talk about adapting it for the mothers. Her experiment last school year had been so successful she was thinking of starting a year round program. The priest at the mission had given her permission to hold classes there on a regular basis. Raul looked at the book, using it as an excuse to sit very close to her, perched on the edge of her desk. He reached his arm around behind her and leaned on that hand, trying to act natural about the contact that was making his heart leap in his chest. Helen looked at the side of his handsome face and wondered why this romantic man who read her poetry and was obviously infatuated with her did not make her heart pound like the taciturn cop who kept her guessing.

"There's a double feature playing at the Rialto drive-in. Two of those old mystery stories you like so much, Bogart and Mitchum, I think," Raul said, looking into her kind eyes. There was something a little different about her today, she seemed to exude a sensuality that he'd long suspected was there but hidden beneath her no-nonsense personality. He searched her face, wondering if it was just his imagination, overwrought from mooning after her for so long, or if her lips seemed fuller, almost bruised.

"What's that got to do with teaching English?" she asked and tapped the book, eyes dancing.

"I was hoping to teach you a little more Spanish," his dark eyes were full of an earthy passion Helen had not noticed before. Maybe she'd misjudged him and he wasn't so ethereal after all. Just as Raul reached out to touch her hair, encouraged by her curious stare, she saw a movement out of the corner of her eye. She stood suddenly and turned to look behind them.

"Bud!" He filled the doorframe, one hand up, leaning on the jamb. "I didn't know you were coming by," she said, flustered.

He'd been watching them for a few minutes and did not like what he saw. His look made her feel like she'd been caught doing something that she shouldn't.

Sounding a little breathless, she quickly made the introductions, "This is Raul, he teaches sixth grade too. He helped convince the mothers to come to my English class. I could never have done it without him. Raul, this is Lt. White of the LAPD,"

Raul stood up. "Helen told me you spoke to her class. Are you speaking to another class today?" he inquired politely, disappointed at the interruption and hoping it would be over quickly.

"No." Bud's expression did not change even though he was very annoyed that she'd used his professional title rather than calling him a friend. "I came by to take Helen to lunch. Looks like I surprised her." Raul looked from Helen to Bud and back, confused.

"I brought my lunch," she said weakly.

"Save it for tomorrow," he rumbled.

Helen gave Raul an apologetic look and handed him the book. "Will you look it over and let me know what you think?" He noticed the small raw spot on her chin as well as the top of a red bruise peeking out the neckline of her dress. With a sick feeling, he realized what it was. Caught guilty, she looked away.

"Helen?" was all he managed but he wanted to ask how she could give herself, a delicate flower, to this caveman in a bad sport coat. Bud was standing almost on top of him now, staring him down. Raul, who had been a wiry street fighter in his day, met Bud's look fearlessly. He thought that while he may not be as big as the stupid cop was, he could still hurt him. There was a brief standoff before Raul conceded that Helen had the final say.

"Of course," he cocked his head. "I should let you go, we get such a short break." He nodded curtly at Bud and left. The door banged shut and Helen turned accusing eyes on Bud. She was both annoyed and slightly amused. He was so territorial.

"Was that really necessary?"

"What?" He tipped her chin up and Helen closed her eyes, hoping he was about to kiss her. "Did I do that to you?" he was looking at the raw spot. Self-consciously she put a hand to her face.

"Yes I'm afraid you did, and I feel like the whole world knows it too."

"Are there any more?" He sounded upset as he looked her up and down.

"Yes." Fearing he'd demand a strip search she changed the subject. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming by?"

"I didn't know." The truth was he had not been able to stop thinking about her. He had worn himself out trying not to call her Sunday night and now on Monday her close proximity made it impossible to concentrate at work. The appearance of her other suitor made him decide right then to give up any attempt at playing it cool. It was not in his repertoire anyway. Like all good cops, he had learned to evaluate a situation and reach a decision quickly. There was no turning back or second-guessing from that point because such behavior could cost him his life. And like most cops, he had trouble turning that process off when he left work. When he dropped her back at the school after lunch, he asked if he could take her to class that night. They met up in the library after and when she asked if they were going for coffee, he asked if she'd make him some at her place instead.

"So what is this thing you have to write before you get your doctorate?" he asked. He was sitting on her couch, scratching Buster behind the ears.

"My dissertation. I'm writing it about the mothers who take my English class. See? They are helping me." She came over carrying two mugs and sat down next to him.

"Uh huh. So how do you write that?" Helen described her theory and her research design and analysis. Then he said, "I have to write a research paper."

"For what?"

"The class is Criminal Justice Law. The instructor said any topic on search and seizure. But I don't know how," he said it casually, trying to hide his embarrassment.

"You don't know how to what? Pick a topic?"

He looked her in the eyes. "I don't know how to write a paper. Not one that would get a passing grade anyway. I don't know if it's like writing an arrest report, or what. But it is supposed to have a bibliography, and foot notes, and I don't know how to do that."

"You mean you can't remember how to do it?" she narrowed her eyes, trying to understand.

"I mean I've never done it," he told her straight.

"How did you get through three years of undergrad work without ever writing a paper?" Helen was aghast.

"It's called a football scholarship," he said, imagining his status slipping in her eyes.

"That's terrible! What kind of institution would allow such a mockery of academic standards?" she exclaimed.

"USC."

"That explains it!" she nearly choked on her coffee. "I can't see you fitting in at the University of Spoiled Children."

"I didn't," he agreed.

Helen contemplated his shamed expression and realized that he was taking a big risk by asking her for help. "I can show you how to do the technical details if you'd like. You'd have to do all the real work, of course," she offered simply.

"Okay. You don't think I'm stupid now, do you?" He was smiling but his eyes belied his insecurity.

"No, I don't think that. I think the system failed you. It's not right. It would be like me passing a kid on to junior high when he wasn't prepared, instead of doing my job and teaching him to read."

"I can read." He pulled her onto his lap.

"Yes, I know," she giggled as he began nuzzling her ear, and pushed against his chest to get him to look at her. "Did you finish that book I loaned you?"

"Yes I did, it's in the car. What are you giving me next?" He kissed her top lip.

"I don't know," she breathed before he moved in for her bottom lip. "Have a look. My books are in the bedroom."

On the bed with her, he held up a coiled rubber. "Do you know what this is?"

"Yes," she laughed, then seeing how intently he looked at her, she gently asked, "I may be inexperienced, but I'm not brand new at this. You knew that, right?" Bud remained silent for fear of betraying himself. Helen knelt beside him and took the rubber from his fingers.

"Show me. I know what it is, but I don't know how to put it on." It was a little lie, so easy to tell, especially if it made him happy. He grabbed her hand roughly and jerked her toward him. She lost her balance and fell onto the bed.

"Don't," he commanded with ice in his voice. "Don't ever lie to me. Not to protect me, not to make me happy, not for any reason. Understand?" His fingers bit painfully into her wrist. She nodded mutely feeling suddenly frightened of him.

"Good. Go ahead," he directed as he released her hand. His manner softened as he savored the feel of her delicate hand rolling it onto him. He was terrified of corrupting her. She was perfect in his eyes and he was well aware she'd already compromised her own moral code for him significantly. He saw she was trembling slightly and avoiding his gaze.

"Come here," he pulled her on top of him, unconsciously trying to restore the balance of power between them. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Yes, a little. Mostly you scared me." She blinked back tears.

"I'm sorry. You are so good. Somehow you've stayed that way all your life and I don't want to be the one who spoils you." She hushed him with a kiss.





On his next day off, Bud helped Helen clean out her single car garage. She was concerned that the neighbors or her family would find out he was spending the night. He disliked having to hide it at all but he respected her enough to begin parking out of sight when he stayed over. She kidded it was to protect him from being charged with conduct unbecoming an officer, since they both knew that the Department routinely spied on their own men. That particular threat had never held any power over him, but he understood society's rules. He'd brought a brown paper bag with him.

"What's that? A present for me?" she asked.

"Yeah," he smirked and shoved it at her.

Helen unrolled the top, looked inside and gasped. She tossed it back at him like it had rattlesnakes inside. Bud laughed, "What? You should be glad I take precautions." He watched her closely. There had been women in his past who had tried to bind him to them with a pregnancy, complaining they were allergic or didn't like the way the rubbers felt. Hell, he didn't like them either but it was a hard and fast rule that had served him well. He'd known many women and had sired no bastards.

"Well I am!" she'd blushed crimson. "But you've got a lifetime supply in there!"

"Oh I don't think so," he shook his head, "you've made me ambitious." She suggested keeping them in the bathroom but he rejected that as being too far away. So she cleared out a drawer near the bed for him to keep his things in when he stayed over. It amused Helen to see his gun, shield, keys, wallet and pile of prophylactics in the open nightstand.

He began showing up at her classroom as the lunch bell rang. He varied the days deliberately and never warned her he was coming. Bud regarded all other men as potential predators so he never took her to the police hangouts. Helen delighted in the chance to show him parts of the city he'd lived so many years in and never seen.

Near the end of October they visited Olvera Street one day at her lunchtime. As they entered through the adobe archway, she handed him one of the little tourist pamphlets, "Learn Spanish Pronto!" with a smirk. She got the shopkeeper in the candle store, who was also a gifted clairvoyant, to explain the Day of the Dead dioramas to him in halting English. She bought a tall candle in a glass container with a picture of the Virgin of Guadeloupe on it.

"She talks to the dead, by the way. She has given me some excellent guidance," she told him as they exited the store.

"I'll bet," he said sarcastically. "I wish you'd stop introducing me to people by my work title," he complained.

"What would you like me to say? 'This is Bud, he's my lover,'" she teased.

" I like the sound of that," he slipped his arm around her and pulled her against his hip.

"I can't say that to people!" she protested. "How about 'my friend'?" she offered instead.

"Call me your boyfriend," he said firmly, thinking it got the message across better. She led him into the old mission. Placing the candle on the altar, she kneeled. Bud stood watching awkwardly until she rose a few minutes later.

"What was that all about? You're not Catholic," he asked as they left the Sanctuary.

"No, but your mother was," she explained.

It sunk in as they were crossing the cobblestone courtyard. "You are lighting candles for my mother?" he asked, dumbfounded. She nodded affirmatively. "Why?" he wanted to know.

"Don't you think someone should?" she answered. Helen felt a twinge of guilt then because she really lit the candles and prayed for herself. She prayed that his mother's spirit would help her understand this difficult man. They bought tamales from a little stand and unwrapped the steaming cornhusks in the plaza while the strolling bolero musicians played nearby.

"Ah yes, the authentic Mexican standard "Love Me Tender," she laughed, recognizing the song.

"You don't come down here after dark, do you?" Bud wished she were just a little less fearless. She seemed to have no real idea of the world's dangers and it had begun to gnaw at him.

Helen rolled her eyes. "It's all families here. Didn't you see how they know me? It's very safe. Do you think that any area that isn't full of white faces is automatically dangerous?"

"You can't argue with statistics. There is more crime in the ethnic areas," he asserted.

"There is more of certain kinds of crime and statistics can be manipulated to say anything you want. Theft correlates with poverty, not with race, and I've never once felt threatened here. The newspapers are all talking about the rapist stalking Pasadena and the Valley." She pulled that morning's edition of the Times out of her ever-present teacher's tote and pointed to the article. "They're calling him the Souvenir Rapist because he always takes some personal trinket from his victims. It says, 'police think he may have been responsible for more than a dozen rapes in the last seven years.'" She frowned at the article and muttered, "says he always wears black leather gloves. Hmm. Must be to not leave fingerprints, huh?"

Bud saw that she was jutting her pointed chin at him again and gave her a grudging smile, having already learned that if he pressed it, Helen would argue with him endlessly. "Don't walk around there after dark either," he tried to joke.

"I don't. Except to see my friends or my parents. Or go to the market on the corner," she replied. Bud sighed and rubbed his eyes, trying to erase the image of her being attacked. She could see he was worrying again. "Walking keeps me slim," she tried to reason with him.

"At least you don't hang out in the colored areas," he said without humor.

"That reminds me," she said as he opened the car door for her, just to yank his chain. "There's this little blues club I'd love you to see. They make great soul food."

"Listen to the white girl!" he hooted. "Soul food for you would be what? Wine and communion wafers?" he snorted and shut the door. He got behind the wheel and started the engine. "Do you think that because you own some Billie Holiday records and work with Mexican kids that you understand more about the world than I do?"

"No, I think that I'm more open to the world than you are. It doesn't take much to provoke you, does it?" she asked.

He shot her a warning look and said, "That's a foolish game. You don't want to make me mad."

Thinking that she didn't like the tone the conversation was taking, and that he really needed to develop a sense of humor, she changed the topic. "Hugh has four tickets to the UCLA/USC game next Friday. He said we could have two."

Bud liked the easy way she'd begun saying "we". "Are you going to sit on the USC side with me?" he asked, beating her to the punch.

"You know we all graduated from UCLA! I'm going to support my team!" She looked at him like he'd suggested she murder her family.

"Then I'll take my ticket and meet you after the game," he said smartly.

"You're taking classes at UCLA now! And we got the tickets!" she cried.

"I was a Trojan. I ran the ball for them. You can't expect me to be a traitor."

She'd anticipated this argument and decided to try bribery. "Well I was a Bruin cheerleader. That's the best I could do, for a girl." She glanced sideways at him. "I do still have my uniform, by the way. I tried it on the other night and it still fits."

"Good for you, but I think you'll be cold if you wear that to the game." He pulled into the elementary schools' parking lot.

"Bud!" she cried indignantly.

"You'd better go. I think I just heard the bell," he smiled.





Helen walked into the bustling station room at Wilshire and made a mental note. The Department should provide guided tours of the stationhouses for local school children. They could show them the holding cells and fingerprint them. Hugh was still at Central, closest to her school; he'd make it really fun. He'd know whom she should petition. She smiled at the thought and reminded herself that not everyone found police work as fascinating as she did. Still, it would make a good field trip, and it was within walking distance.

She had come to meet Bud, who was working that Saturday. He had some silly idea that he should always drive, just because he was the man. "It's a penis, not a gear shift," she'd quipped but that had made him mad. They were spending nearly all their free time together now and because of his rule she could only drive her beloved Corvette to work and back. He said that was fine because she drove too fast anyway. Wilshire was much closer to the college than her house, so they had finally agreed to meet there before the game and then return later for her car.

She found the Watch Commander's desk and asked for the Detective Bureau. The harried man jerked his thumb in the general direction behind him while fielding a phone call and trying to direct two patrol officers, who'd just brought in a foul smelling man. He was wearing a vivid Hawaiian shirt and self-styled crown thorns made from someone's pyracantha shrub, and loudly spouting biblical passages. The thorns had torn his forehead to shreds and blood dripped down his face. The Watch Commander placed his hand over the phone and spoke to the arresting officers.

"Let me guess. The Son of God?" A blue suit nodded. Helen hurried past, oblivious to the looks she got from nearly every officer there. In her blue jeans, canvas sneakers and UCLA sweater with her hair pulled back in a headband, she looked like a young student, and definitely out of place.

Bud had been transferred to Wilshire Station just after they'd begun dating. It put him a little farther from her school but hadn't stopped him from checking up on her. His excellent case work and dedication as an instructor at the Academy had jumped him to Lieutenant II, Detective III in short order and Parker, through Exley, who handled the Detective assignments and promotions, had made good on his promise to use him in a supervisory role. He was essentially doing the work of a captain without the title or pay raise. The pluses, as he saw it, were more or less normal hours with more freedom to set his own schedule, and getting first crack at the big cases. The minuses were being tied to a desk as never before, endless paperwork, and having to keep the junior detectives in check. The men found his average-guy demeanor a vast improvement over their former Captain, whom they'd considered a spineless administration lackey and on whom they'd bestowed a nervous tic and a bleeding ulcer before his ultimate promotion out of Wilshire to Commander up in Devonshire.

Commander Ross at Wilshire had despised the former Captain as much as the men, but for a different reason. He was certain the little weasel was after his job. Bud, however, did not seem the ambitious type. He seemed, in fact, to be perpetually surprised at his new level of authority, and reluctant to wield it. He took on responsibilities he was not paid or technically required to handle and never complained. The men held a respect tinged by fear of him. Bud's somewhat antisocial nature kept him from fraternizing with the junior detectives outside of work. All of which made him a natural police leader. Commander Ross agreed with Deputy Chief Exley's suggestion that they delay the appointment of another Captain to the Detective Unit. Ed was pleased because he had Bud pegged for the spot and until he legitimately earned the promotion, it saved Ed a little money in his budget.

Bud had neglected to tell Helen how to find him. None of the office doors had names on, except the one marked "Commander Ross", and she didn't want to risk blundering into the wrong office or an interrogation room by mistake. She passed by him once but he was on the phone with his back turned. She'd been circling the building about ten minutes when she stumbled on the break room. A quick glance told her he wasn't there either. There were two plainclothes officers talking near the water cooler and another sitting at a table eating his lunch. Helen was getting annoyed with Bud for not giving her better directions. She left and continued down the hall but the tall, lanky one followed and called out to her.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Lieutenant White," she turned and hesitated briefly before walking back to him. At 6'4", Sergeant Detective Pete Ellis towered over Helen. He put his arm around her shoulders and propelled her back into the break room. Sandy haired and freckled, Ellis was an affable and garrulous thirty-four-year old whose charm and easy way with words brought him great success with the ladies. Although they had not worked together before, he had taken an instant liking to solitary and churlish Bud, and had worked hard to win his alliance. Ellis was dependable and a stand-up dick, but at least as important, he got Bud to laugh at things that would have earned another man a punch in the face. He had repeatedly tried to get Bud to double date with him when his latest squeeze had a sister or a friend, but had only succeeded at getting him to attend a Dodger's World Series game at the Coliseum, sans dates.

"Hmmm. I don't think I've seen him today." He raised his brows at the other two detectives and inclined his head toward her slightly. "Hey guys, this little lady is looking for White." Helen was relieved when he removed his arm.

"Haven't seen him. What's a pretty girl like you doing looking for an ugly mug like White?" The other detective at the cooler, Bob Rosigni was shorter and stocky, with jet-black hair and eyes.

"Um," Helen rarely stammered but these guys made her a little nervous, "I'm supposed to meet him here."

"In the break room?"

"No, here at the center. Could you please tell me where his office is?" She began to worry that he'd been called away on some urgent business and been unable to contact her. Twice in the last month he'd had to reschedule dates with her at the last minute. Now both men rubbed their chins and looked at each other over the water cooler.

"I'm not sure, do you know Rosigni?" asked Ellis. He looked at her helplessly. "They move us around so much, I can't keep track."

"Nope." said the dark eyed one, peering at her over his coffee cup. "How about you Williams?"

The older, heavyset black detective sitting at the table screwed the lid back onto his thermos and put it back in his lunch pail. "Leave me out of this." He smiled at her sympathetically before he left the room. Two more plainclothesmen entered then and Ellis introduced Helen. Neither of them seemed to know where Bud was.

"Coffee?" Rosigni asked her solicitously.

"No thank-you. I really need to find him." Helen glanced at her watch. Good thing she'd come so early.

"Maybe one of us can help you. Is it about a case?"

"We are going to a game." She smiled shyly.

"What game?"

"USC vs. UCLA"

"Damn! How'd you get tickets for that?" There was a small crowd in the room now and they all seemed to have nothing else to do but talk football with her. She played with her key fob. Ellis took it from her for a closer look.

"Is that your 'Vette parked outside?" She nodded. "Sweet! What kind of engine does she have?"

"I got the base V-8 with 230 horse power. I think I'd better keep looking," she said after a few minutes of car chat. She snatched her keys and made for the door, but two of them closed rank in front of her. She noticed they were smirking.

"So how do you know White anyway?" asked Ellis.

"He's my boyfriend," she almost whispered. Rosigni sprayed a mouthful of coffee. She couldn't bear to look around, but she heard the repressed snickers and caught them digging elbows into each other's ribs. She felt the color rise in her face and knew she must not let them see she was rattled.

At that moment Sam Barnes walked into the room. "Hey, you guys having a party in here and didn't tell me?" he asked. He spotted Helen in the center of them and elbowed past the taller men toward her. Ellis introduced her again, as he'd done with each new arrival. "I remember you!" said the kindly looking grandfather with salt and pepper hair. "You're the girl from the bakery! I'll be damned, that was months ago, wasn't it? How has that dog kept a pretty thing like you around this long?" Helen had no idea who he was or what he was talking about, and although he seemed to be insulting Bud, he seemed to know who she was, and maybe, just maybe, this old man would tell her where to find him.

"Can you tell me ... " she began hopefully.

A deep, booming voice interrupted her. "What the fuck is going on in here?" Bud stood in the doorway, holding his empty coffee cup. The party ended abruptly as the suddenly subdued men cleared a path for Helen.

"There's a co-ed here to see you, White," said Ellis grinning ear to ear, clearly enjoying the moment. Bud glared at all of them, taking inventory of the offenders for later. He strode down the hallway, leaving her to hurry along in his wake. He jerked open the door of his office and made way for her to pass through before slamming it shut behind her. Helen jumped.

"What was that all about?" he demanded.

"I was just trying to find you, I can't help it if you gave me bad directions!" she said, voice rising.

Bud thought how she looked just like a schoolgirl. He rubbed the back of his neck in exasperation, a feeling he'd become intimate with since she'd come into his life. "How long have you been here?" He checked his watch and felt instantly guilty - he'd lost all track of time. He walked around his desk and began angrily shuffling papers.

"Less than a half hour. I spent most of it walking around. I was in there for about ten minutes, although it felt much longer," she said unhappily.

"Terrific", he said, knowing that any one of those guys could reduce the hardest felon to tears in ten minutes. He pitied her being grilled by a whole roomful of them. His jaw line was stiff and he stared at her in a way that sent a cold shiver down her spine. "What did you talk about?"

"I said I was looking for you because we were going to the game and I said you were my boyfriend, which they seemed to find very amusing." She said nervously. "That is what you wanted me to call you?"

He hesitated before coming back around the desk toward her. He took one of her hands and toyed with it. "I don't discuss my personal life at work," he'd softened his voice. "Most of these guys trade a lot of bullshit about who they are sleeping with. I don't want anyone ever talking about you like that because I'd have to hurt him." He leaned back against the desk. "I'm sure they thought it was hilarious that a girl like you would be with me."

"You think I'm too young for you?" she asked.

"I think I'm too old, too ugly, and not good enough for you but as long as you're foolish enough to take me, I'm not letting you go." He grasped her hips and pulled her up against him.

"That was good," she smiled, "I didn't think you could sweet talk like that." Her arms went round his neck and she kissed him. When he looked up again, Ellis was outside his office with his back to the window. He'd wrapped his arms around himself and was fondling the back of his head and shoulders, like he was making out with someone. Bud groaned, then laughed but kept Helen pinned between his legs and facing him. Ellis cupped his hands to the window to check on his audience and grinned. Bud gave him the finger behind her head just before he walked away.

"What?" she asked bewildered.

"Nothing. Let's go." He shoved some papers in the desk, slipped on his holster, then his jacket, and opened the door. "We have to stop by my place. I want to change."

"We're going to miss kick-off!" she exclaimed.

"I'll be quick," he promised.

Helen thought he was being incredibly annoying when they got to the apartment and he decided to take a shower. She went to get herself a glass of water and instantly regretted it. The tiny kitchenette was filthy. The few dishes he owned were dirty and piled in the sink. The stove had a layer of dust and looked like it had never been used. She dared a look into the refrigerator and found that the few contents there had not been edible or even recognizable for some time. The floor was sticky and pulled at her shoes where ever she stepped. She wondered whether the rest of the apartment was as bad. Quickly moving to check the bedroom before he shut off the shower, she found clothes piled on the floor. Some hung in the closet with the laundry tags still on. His wardrobe consisted of only white oxford cloth shirts, several pair of dark slacks, two pair of well-worn khakis, two tweed sport coats, one brown and one gray, and several casual shirts all bearing the LAPD logo. She only allowed herself a glance at the unmade bed and tried not to think about how long since the sheets had been changed. She risked a quick peek in the bathroom, and was disappointed she could not see him behind the shower curtain. She nearly gagged at the condition of the sink and toilet.

The dresser was littered with bits of scribbled paper and loose change. She was delighted to see the photo strip from their first date tucked in the edge of the mirror, thinking it a sweet and sentimental gesture. She stepped closer, perplexed to see a small stack of photographs of what appeared to be cheerleaders. She touched her finger to the edge of the top one, scooting it aside, and wondered out loud, "How did he get these?" She looked in horror at a photo that she'd hoped to never see again. It was a shot of her, in mid-toss, skirt up around her middle, with what she considered an enormous, idiotic grin on her face. Helen groaned, thinking it was impossible that anyone could find these images anything besides laughable. Her eyes narrowed as she identified the culprit. "Hugh!" she hissed and began to plot her revenge.

Scurrying back to the relative safety of the front room, she looked in vain for a place to sit that did not offer some view to make her skin crawl. She perched gingerly on the edge of the sofa and spotted the new car brochures on the cushion next to her. Several minutes later he emerged in clean if slightly wrinkled khakis and one of the blue collared sport shirts the Department issued him for coaching.

"Did you play detective?" he asked.

"Yes."

He chuckled. "That will teach you. I'm sorry, I should have cleaned it before I brought you over." He thought of her pristine home and hoped he hadn't shocked her too much. He had deliberately left his bankbook out but rigged it so he could tell if she'd touched it. She hadn't and he was disappointed. He might not have a new car or a house yet but he wanted her to know he could afford them and had not found a way yet to work this fact into a conversation.

They arrived just in time for kick-off. Helen hugged Lydia whom she hadn't seen for awhile. With Hugh working night shift, she hardly saw him. Bud said he was going to sit on the other side, just to tease her, and left for the concession stand. Hugh followed him, leaving Helen and Lydia to catch up with each other. They were happily visiting, one eye on the game, when Helen spied a familiar blonde couple moving into the stands a few rows down.

"What's wrong?" Lydia asked.

"You see that couple down there?" hissed Helen, hiding her face by pretending to look at something behind them. "The Nordic looking pair?"

Lydia spotted them and giggled. "You are right! They look like a ski instructors." Both were flaxen-haired and the man was tall, tanned and muscular.

"That's my ex-fiancé and his sister the witch. She married a friend of Bud's. Oh God. I do not want to talk to her. She always manages to say something really nasty but in a sly way so I don't know how to respond."

"How about a punch in the nose?" asked Lydia. "You're safe. Look. They sat down."

Helen breathed a sigh of relief just as Ray turned and spotting her, flashed his perfect, white teeth.

"Oh God," she groaned. Ray was climbing the bleachers two at a time to where they sat. Helen tried to look completely engrossed in her conversation with Lydia but it was no use.

"Helen!" he called.

"Hello Ray," she said coolly. "This is Hugh's girlfriend Lydia. Ray and I went to school together."

He corrected her. "How quickly they forget! Actually, `I believe we were engaged once." Dressed in her Bruin sweater, Helen made him nostalgic for their college days. He had not been able to achieve the same level of prestige in the real world as he'd enjoyed in college, and she was part of that happy memory.

"Yes," she laughed, "the silly things you do when you're young!"

"So tell me how you've been!" Ray asked with what he considered his most charming smile. Helen made uncomfortable small talk with him for about two minutes while he nodded and pretended to listen to her talk about teaching before getting to his point. "Uh huh, yeah, that's great. I guess you heard that Sandy and I split?" He referred to his wife, who had moved out with the kids the month prior.

"No, actually, I'm afraid I've been preoccupied," she said, thinking of the stories Henry had told her about Ray's well-known philandering.

"Yeah, so anyway, I'm a free man again." He clearly expected her to be delighted at the news but Helen was preoccupied watching Bud's approach.

Ray turned to look at the man who was glaring at him. "How you doing, Pops?" he asked Bud. Ray turned back to face Helen, rolling his eyes as if to ask, What's up with this guy?

"You're in my seat," said Bud in a tone that begged Ray to give him an excuse.

Ray looked at him in irritation. "They're bleachers." He elongated the word. "Go sit further down the row," he suggested. Bud's nostrils flared and his jaw clenched as he set the box with the hot dogs down on the bench carefully.

Helen rushed an introduction, trying to forestall the looming violence.

"Bud, this is Ray Manning, I went to school with him. Ray, this is Bud. He's my boyfriend." Helen rushed to make introductions, trying to forestall the violent intent she read in Bud's expression. Ray looked in disbelief from her to Bud and back.

"Pleased to meet you, Sir," Ray emphasized the title in a not-so-subtle attempt to point up their age difference. He held out his hand but Bud just stared at him with a look so malevolent that even self-absorbed Ray couldn't miss it. Bud was itching to pick him up and throw him down the stands but guessed that might embarrass Helen. It was not a consideration he was used to making. As Ray stepped down a row and Bud reclaimed his seat, Helen patted his knee. Ray turned around, not able to resist flaunting their former relationship.

"It's been too long. I've missed you. I'll give you a call," he said to Helen. Bud stood back up and she did too, yanking desperately on his hand.

"Please don't," she begged Bud softly. "Leave it in the past, Ray. Please give my regards to Vi," she said firmly. He slunk off and Helen sat down, relieved.

"That wasn't as good as a punch in the nose. You should have let him do it," Lydia said disapprovingly.

"I thought I handled that well!" said Helen.

"You're too polite. He insulted your man and you allowed it. In my family, you'd be in deep trouble."

Bud continued standing and watching Ray until he left the stands. Finally he sat back down, brooding. He knew that this was what some people might call maturity but he hated it. Letting her handle it made him feel weak and pathetic. Hugh came back and Helen tried to relax and enjoy the game but there had been too much tension. Bud was either distracted or mad at her, she couldn't tell which, and she began to feel sorry for herself. She hadn't had a beer in forever and it suddenly sounded like the most appealing thing in the world. At halftime she asked Hugh if he were going to get one, since she knew Bud did not drink it.

"No. I've given it up," he replied seriously.

"Get out of here," she shoved his arm. "You live on beer."

"Not anymore." He produced a small silver flask from his jacket.

"Since when do you carry a flask?" She wrinkled her nose at him. A flash caught her eye and she turned just in time to see Bud tipping his, heedless of their conversation in the crowd noise.

"Well what's a girl got to do to get a beer around here?" She stood up and Lydia with her.

"Where are you going?" Bud tugged on her jeans, then stood. "I'll buy you a beer."

"Great. 'Cause I need to visit the little girl's room."

Bud and Hugh went and stood in the beer line while Helen and Lydia queued for the powder room. Vi spotted her and cut in line, acting like they were long lost best pals. She didn't waste much time.

"Of course I'll always be devastated that you and I aren't sisters, Helen dear, but I hear you've bagged yourself a big, strong buck anyway."

"I'm dating Bud White if that's what you mean."

"Yes. That's what I mean. Not that I blame you darling, he's enough man for two or three women." Here it comes, thought Helen, and tried to gird herself.

"I'd be too intimidated thinking about his last lover, but I guess this time he wanted the Madonna after having the whore." It felt like the ground under her gave a sudden lurch and she had to grip Lydia's elbow to keep from tipping over. Vi enjoyed the look of distress on Helen's face. She had never forgiven Helen for letting her baby brother off the hook to marry that trailer trash. The stigma and financial costs of divorce were high and Vi put the blame square on Helen's shoulders.

"Why Helen, surely you knew!" she said with feigned surprise. "Ed told me all about it, said White rode out of town in that hooker's car, but I guess that's all over now. So long as she stays in Arizona, right?"

Ed had tried to share with Vi some of what he and Bud had been through together, but had simply described Lynn as his girlfriend. Vi had surmised the girlfriend's occupation through eavesdropping on other cop's conversations. It was a cold disappointment when Ed realized shortly after their marriage that his pretty, vivacious wife was also a terrible gossip and he'd begun to carefully censor himself around her.

Vi moved on to her next victim. Helen's mind reeled as she tried to absorb her comments. Surely Bud had not been involved with a prostitute.

In the beer line ahead of Bud and Hugh, Ray Manning was holding court with three of his former frat brothers. They were amusing each other with racial slurs and crude jokes. Hugh nudged Bud and nodded toward Ray.

"That's him, that's her ex," he sneered in disgust. Hugh could never stand Ray.

"We met," Bud said flatly.

The attention of his old posse combined with the large quantity of beer Ray had consumed wiped out what little common sense he had to start with. The other three frat rats remembered Hugh as the baby brother of Ray's college squeeze, and had seen him kiss Lydia before the girls had gone off. Just as one of them asked Hugh if Lydia was "a hot tamale" Ray loudly told his buddies he thought he might give Helen another chance.

"She was the best lay I ever had."

It was all the provocation they needed. Bud grabbed Ray's head and shoved it down as he brought his knee up, breaking his nose in one vicious blow. Hugh knocked the other offender flat with a picture perfect left hook. As Ray lay writhing on the ground, Bud turned to see Hugh scramble out from beneath the largest of the men and land two punches in the big one's gut. The man charged Hugh, angered but unfazed, knocking him backward into a hedge.

Bud thought he needed to speak to Hugh about the difference between a street fight and one in the boxing ring. The man turned, spotted Bud, and came at him. Bud knocked his legs out from under him with one savage kick to the shins, then brought his clasped fists down like a hammer on the back of his head.

"LAPD shitbird," he gave notice as he sat on the big one's back, cuffing his wrists behind him. He stood up and looked around hopefully for the fourth man who had wisely fled. Bud hauled Ray to his feet. He helped Hugh cuff one wrist each from Ray and the other man to a chain link fence. He praised Hugh for always having his cuffs with him. Bud arrested all three bleeding, moaning men for drunk and disorderly, sending Hugh off to call for a car to pick them up while he stood guard. The girls came out of the bathroom and looked around, but did not see the men in the beer line anymore, so they returned to the stands.

When Bud and Hugh came back a half-hour later with the beer, they were talking animatedly, charged up from their brawl. Helen saw the exhilarated looks on their faces, eyes ablaze. Hugh's jacket had a small tear and there were blood spatters on Bud's knee.

"What happened to the two of you?" she asked, taking the cup from Bud.

"We did a little community policing," Bud said, putting his arm around her and giving her a rib-bruising squeeze.

"Ouch! Easy there, big boy," she said, keeping a wary eye on him. Bud had released most of his pent up aggression on Ray's face, but the adrenaline and testosterone rush had some lingering effects. He nuzzled into her neck as USC scored a touchdown. Bud cheered lustily, earning hateful looks from the surrounding fans. He reached just under her sweater and stuck his cold hand against her warm side, giggling mischievously when she jumped at the shock and sloshed some of her beer on her jeans. She tried ignoring him, hoping that would be the end of it. She relaxed and snuggled into him as he put his arm around her shoulder, but soon he was trying to grope her again. She'd had enough and hissed, "Stop it!"

He bit her ear and said through his teeth, "Let's go."

"No!" She whispered reproachfully, wondering where his usual tightly controlled public behavior had gone.

"Why not?" he whispered back.

"It's almost over, try to control yourself," she scolded.

After USC won, Bud was glad night had fallen to help disguise his victory salute. He carried his jacket in front of him as they left the stadium.

"Aren't you cold?" she asked him innocently.

"No. How about we go to your place now and I bring you back for your car tomorrow?" he suggested.

"Tomorrow is Sunday. I don't want to have to explain that one," she refused.

"All right. I'll bring you back for it later tonight," he offered.

"Please take me to it now," she said.

"I'm getting tired of all this sneaking and hiding bullshit," he groused, shooting a cross look her way, and pointed the car back toward the station. He fully expected her to tell him that there was an obvious and socially acceptable solution to the problem. He had previously sought female companionship as his needs arose, careful not to let attachments develop. It had always been a relief to slip away afterward, back to his place. Now he got depressed on the nights he didn't see her and never wanted to go to his apartment alone. Everything was different with Helen. This must be why it's called the tender trap, he thought resentfully. But she said nothing and he began ruminating on the other torturous possibility - that when he got around to asking for her hand she would reject him. It was an internal argument he'd been having a lot lately.

He pulled alongside her car in the lot at Wilshire. He was just about to come around and open her door when she coolly said, "I don't like upsetting you. If you don't like being discreet then you shouldn't have to be. Good night."

Bud was slow to realize she was angry. "Helen, wait ... " he called as he got out and walked around his car toward her, alarmed to see how fast she'd got into the Corvette and started the engine. He broke into a run too late as she hit the gas in reverse and zigzagged away as he chased after her. Bud swore each time she changed direction, then bellowed at her to stop. She clutched and threw it in first, squealing the tires and peeling around him defiantly. Bud yelled every expletive he knew, to the delight of the cops in the lot who had caught the act, before roaring off after her. He raced up to and passed every car on the freeway but couldn't spot her. When he pulled up in front of her house and saw her car was not there, he sat at the curb for over an hour, thinking. Finally he saw her headlights turn the corner. He got out, prepared to chase her to the door, but she met him calmly on the porch.

She'd been crying but her head and eyes were clear now and she looked him straight in the eye."I won't be your whore," she said.

"I never think of you like that," he answered.

"But you want to come and go as you please and whatever anyone thinks be damned," she accused.

"It's not like that Helen."

"I want to be your lover, but I live here and I have to care what people think. Teachers have an equivalent of your conduct code for cops. I could be fired for being indiscreet." She paused and found her courage. "There's something else. I have to be the only one. Even if you don't know her," She took a deep breath and her voice quavered, "even if you pay her, it's still a betrayal."

Bud snapped to attention. "What are you talking about?"

She'd decided while she was crying and driving around Pasadena that she would not bring it up, but now the question rose unbidden to her lips. "Was your last girlfriend a prostitute?"

"Where did you hear that?" he forced himself to ask. He closed his eyes, fearing his past was about to cost him his future.

"What difference does it make? You said you would always tell me the truth if I asked," she insisted.

"Can we go inside and talk?" he pleaded quietly.

"No. Tell me here," she said, stubbornly planting her feet.

He took a deep breath and began, "She was a high class call girl - a distinction that doesn't make a damn bit of difference in hindsight, but it seemed to at the time. We sort of found each other in the middle of some very bad shit. She was getting out of hooking when I met her. And for your information, I have never paid for sex because I think prostitution is a trap -women never really get out - it holds them one way or the other."

"Did you love her?" she asked in a tiny voice.

"I wanted to save her and I think she was trying to rescue me too. It didn't work. But I thought that was love at the time," he answered patiently.

"No one can save you from yourself," She said breathlessly, mesmerized by his beautiful, sad eyes, and loving him more for being honest with her.

"That's right," he nodded. "See? You are so much smarter than me."

"It hurts to be taken casually when I am so crazy about you," she said as she cradled his jaw in her hand. He turned toward it, seeking her touch like the cat begging for affection.

"I think about you all the time," his voice was hoarse and he shook his head, "I can't help it." It felt like she had him stripped and up against the wall.

"You've tried not to?" she asked.

"Not really," he smiled his little boy smile.

She forgave him everything. "So are you coming inside?"

"As soon as I put the car in the garage," he said dryly and walked wearily back down the steps.

She left the front door open and he let himself in, heaving a tremendous sigh of relief at being there and not out in the cold. He wondered again why it always smelled so nice in her house. He took out the bottle of J&B he'd stocked in her pantry and poured himself a healthy draught. As the liquid burned down his throat and did it's little warm dance in his belly he hoped that the talking portion of the evening would be all over now. He looked at the door that led off the kitchen into the back yard and saw it was unlocked again. He went into the living room, stretched his long legs out on her couch and kicked off his shoes. Buster jumped up and sat on his chest while Bud held his drink away and scratched his ears with his free hand. He'd thought it was funny last time when the cat wedged his fat, furry head into his glass and licked at the remains of the scotch, but Helen had got all upset about it making the cat sick or some such bullshit. Fuck he was tired. He was too old for this kind of drama, thinking that he'd better find some way to settle her down quick before she killed him. He looked over the cat to see her leaning against the doorway, watching him.

"You left the back door unlocked again," he said irritably. She didn't answer but went to play the Miles Davis record on the hi-fi, then lifted his feet, laying them across her lap as she sat down. "Are you trying to give me nightmares? Do you know what kinds of psychos go house to house in nice neighborhoods, trying doors in the middle of the night? It's not the thieves - they come in the daytime when no one's home. It's the rapists because they want you to be here."

"You're right," she said soothingly, "I will lock the doors." She pulled off his socks and began to rub his feet, gently kneading the balls and working her thumbs into the arches. Bud closed his eyes and began to thank whatever benevolent Being had brought her to him. After awhile she asked, "Do you want me to rub your shoulders?" He cracked one eye open, sitting slowly and scratching himself. Taking hold of the bottom of his shirt, he pulled it up and off in one fluid movement. He moved to sit on the floor at her feet and she braced her knees around his shoulders and began to work the cords on the back of his neck. His head lolled forward as her fingers moved in small circles, pressing into his flesh. She took inventory of his moles as she squeezed and rolled his shoulders. He grunted his pleasure as she worked down between his shoulder blades.

"So," she began tentatively, "I bet she knew a lot of things." He gave no response. "You know, being a professional and all." Nothing. "Sometimes I wish I knew more, you know, tricks."

"Tricks?" he asked, trying not to laugh. She gave him a little pinch. It was not funny to her. She already felt hopelessly unsophisticated in bed with him. Her new knowledge about his former flame was eating her up.

"Yeah, you know, like techniques."

He ran his hand up her pant leg and squeezed her calf. "You don't lie. I can see and feel your pleasure. It's real. That is far more sexy than any technique." He remembered the look of rapture on her face the last time he'd made love to her. She made him feel incredibly powerful. He picked up her hand and rubbed his five o'clock shadow against it, kissing her fingertips. He half turned and looked at her slyly. "What did you have in mind?" he teased, enjoying her reaction.

She blushed and looked away. "Nothing. Never mind." She tried to pull away from him but he would not let her go.

"Helen," he wheedled, trailing kisses up her arm, "come on, you've got my attention now."

Feeling a surge of bravery she said, "I liked what we did last time."

"What?" He sat back on the couch and pulled her onto his lap.

"You know," she whispered.

He started kissing her neck, knowing it melted her inhibitions. "Tell me, I want to hear you say it," he breathed in her ear. Helen shivered and whispered in his ear. "I liked that too baby," he purred. If only she knew how much he loved showing her, especially when she was such an apt and eager pupil.

He'd found the banned books she'd had a girlfriend bring home from a trip to Paris in her bedroom. Tropic of Cancer had a few dog-eared pages and as he thumbed through he'd been amused to realize she'd marked the sex scenes. She'd been adorably flustered when he confronted her with it. He'd told her, half-joking and half-serious, to just ask him and he'd be happy to demonstrate.

"Nothing that feels that right could be wrong, baby," he said in his velvet growl.

"I feel like I look silly," she said. She feared losing control while he was watching her so closely.

"You look beautiful. I love to watch you." Bud pulled impatiently at her sweater and she helped him slip it off her. He moved slowly down her body, covering each newly naked inch in kisses, settling himself between her legs.

She quickly lost all coherent thought, moaning and thrashing her head from side to side. Her tummy and thighs twitched spasmodically and she wished she could stop it but he didn't seem to notice and soon she forgot to care. She could not get away from the pleasure so intense it hurt. She thrust her hips upward in a silent supplication to release her from the sweet agony. All else receded save his mouth on her sex and then the knot of white-hot sensation exploded and spread throughout her whole body, flooding her with delicious warmth. She lay panting for a while before her mind swam back into focus.

"Did you like that?" he asked quietly but the answer was obvious. Helen smiled serenely.

He leaned over to open the nightstand drawer and extracted a rubber. She put it on him and then lay back. He plunged in deep, moving his hips in slow, tight circles. She wrapped herself around him, holding on for dear life. She dug her heels into his back and cried out in pleasure again. That shredded his last bit of self-control. He hunched over her, grunting and thrusting roughly, until he found his release. He rolled off and cradled her in the crook of one arm. She fell asleep lulled by the sound of his heart thumping against her cheek and soon he was breathing deep as he followed her into blissful, contented sleep.

Part 3


TRC Home       Sticky Valentines Home