Evan Hunter - Romance

KLING MADE HIS CALL FROM AN OUTSIDE PHONE BECAUSE HE didnt want to be turned down in a place as public as the squadroom. He didnt want to risk possible derision from the men with whom he worked day and night, the men to whom he often entrusted his life. Nor did he want to make the call from anyplace at all in the station house. There were pay phones on every floor, but a police station was like a small town, and gossip traveled fast. He did not want anyone to overhear him fumbling for words in the event of a rejection. He felt that rejection was a very definite possibility.

So he stood in the pouring rain a block from the station house, at a blue plastic shell with a pay phone inside it, dialing the number hed got from the police directory operator, and which hed scribbled on a scrap of paper that was now getting soggy in the rain. He waited while the phone rang, once, twice, three times, four, five, and he thought, She isnt home, six, sev

Hello?

Her voice startled him.

Hello, uh, Sharon? he said. Chief Cooke?

Whos this, please?

Her voice impatient and sharp. Rain pelting down everywhere around him. Hang up, he thought.

This is Bert Kling? he said.

Who?

The sharpness still in her voice. But edged with puzzlement now.

Detective Bert Kling, he said. We uh met at the hospital.

The hospital?

Earlier this week. The hostage cop shooting. Georgia Mowbry.

Yes?

Trying to remember who he was. Unforgettable encounter, he guessed. Lasting impression.

I was with Detective Burke, he said, ready to give up. The redheaded hostage cop. She was with Georgia when

Oh, yes, I remember now. How are you?

Fine, he said, and then very quickly, Im calling to tell you how sorry I am you lost her.

Thats very kind of you.

I know I should have called earlier

No, no, its appreciated.

But we were working a difficult case

I quite understand.

Georgia Mowbry had died on Wednesday night. This was now Sunday. She suddenly wondered what this was all about. Shed been reading the papers when her phone rang. Reading all about yesterdays riot in the park. Blacks and whites rioting. Black and whites shooting each other, killing each other.

So uh I know how difficult something like that must be, he said. And I uh just thought Id offer my uh sympathy.

Thank you, she said.

There was a silence.

Then:

Uh Sharon

By the way, its Sharyn, she said.

Isnt that what Im saying?

Youre saying Sharon.

Right, he said.

But its Sharyn.

I know, he said, thoroughly confused now.

With a y, she said.

Oh, he said. Right. Thank you. Im sorry. Sharyn, right.

Whats that I hear? she asked.

What do you mean?

That sound.

Sound? Oh. It must be the rain.

The rain? Where are you?

Im calling from outside.

From a phone booth?

No, not really, its just one of these little shell things. What youre hearing is the rain hitting the plastic.

Youre standing in the rain?

Well, sort of.

Isnt there a phone in the squadroom?

Well, yes. But

She waited.

I uh didnt want anyone to hear me.

Why not?

Because I I didnt know how youd feel about something like this.

Something like what?

My asking you to have dinner with me.

Silence.

Sharyn?

Yes?

Your being a chief and all, he said. A deputy chief.

She blinked.

I thought it might make a difference. That Im just a detective/third.

I see.

No mention of his blond hair or her black skin.

Silence.

Does it? he asked.

She had never dated a white man in her life.

Does what? she said.

Does it make a difference? Your rank?

No.

But what about the other? she wondered. What about whites and blacks killing each other in public places? What about that, Detective Kling?

Rainy day like today, he said, I thought itd be nice to have dinner and go to a movie.

With a white man, she thought.

Tell my mother Im going on a date with a white man. My mother who scrubbed white mens offices on her knees.

Im off at four, he said. I can go home, shower and shave, pick you up at six.

You hear this, Mom? A white man wants to pick me up at six. Take me out to dinner and a movie.

Unless you have other plans, he said.

Are you really standing in the rain? she asked.

Well, yes, he said. Do you?

Do I what?

Have other plans?

No. But

Bring the subject up, she thought. Face it head-on. Ask him if he knows Im black. Tell him Ive never done anything like this before. Tell him my motherll jump off the roof. Tell him I dont need this kind of complication in my life, tell him

Well uh do you think you might like to? he asked. Go to a movie and have dinner?

Why do you want to do this? she asked.

He hesitated a moment. She visualized him standing there in the rain, pondering the question.

Well, he said, I think we might enjoy each others company, is all.

She could just see him shrugging, standing there in the rain. Calling from outside the station house because he didnt want anyone to hear him being turned down by rank. Never mind black, never mind white, this was detective/ third and deputy chief. As simple as that. She almost smiled.

Excuse me, he said, but do you think you could give me some kind of answer? Cause its sort of wet out here.

Six oclock is fine, she said.

Good, he said.

Call me when youre out of the rain, Ill give you my address.

Good, he said again. Good. Thats good. Thank you, Sharyn. Ill call you when I get back to the squadroom. What kind of food do you like? I know a great Italian

Get out of the rain, she said, and quickly put the phone back on the cradle.

Her heart was pounding.

God, she thought, what am I starting here?

The redheaded woman was telling him that shed been receiving threatening phone calls. He listened intently. Six phone calls in the past week, she told him. The same man each time, speaking in a low voice, almost a whisper, telling her he was going to kill her. At a table against one wall of the room, a short man in shirtsleeves was fingerprinting a bearded man in a black T-shirt.

When did these calls start?

Last week, the woman said. Monday morning was the first one.

Okay, lets take down some more information, the man said, and rolled an NYPD Detective Division complaint form into his typewriter. He was wearing a.38-caliber pistol in a shoulder holster. Like the man taking fingerprints at the table against the wall, he too was in shirtsleeves. May I have your address, please?

314 East Seventy-first Street.

Here in Manhattan?

Yes.

Apartment number?

6B.

Are you married? Single? Div?

Single.

Are you employed?

Im an actress.

Oh? Eyebrows going up in sudden interest. Have I seen you in anything?

Well Ive done a lot of television work. I did a Law & Order last month.

Really? Thats a good show. I watch that show all the time. Which one were you in?

The one about abortion.

No kidding? I saw that. That was just last month!

Yes, it was. Excuse me, Detective, but

Thats my favorite show on television. They shoot that right here in New York, did you know that? Will you be doing any more of them?