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.But I do.And I worry for you.Some things are impossible to change.” She put a hand on his shoulder.“Come back tomorrow.If she isn’t dead, she may be aware.”8FLORENCE slipped the thin gold wire through the hole in her ear and straightened to judge the effect in her mirror.The gold glinted softly against her jawline.The earrings were the perfect length.She turned slowly and examined the room.The bed linens were freshly ironed and the coverlet new.A peach shawl, draped over the lamp shade, cast a warm, soft light that played to perfection on her olive skin tones.From the bottom drawer of her vanity she brought out the tiny bottle of real perfume and dabbed her ears, neck, and cleavage before lifting her skirt to apply a drop to her naval and the exposed pubis that showed beneath her garter belt.For tonight she’d purchased silk hose.They’d cost a pretty penny, but the effect was worth it.She lowered the skirt of the little black dress she’d bought at Marcel’s and rocked her hips to see the shimmy of material.For a split second she fantasized about going dancing.There were joints and bars all over Iberia Parish, but dancing was a date, and Florence Delacroix was not a woman men asked on a public date.She swallowed back the bitter taste of self-pity and walked to the kitchen.Her drink had left a condensation ring on the table, and she picked up the glass and wiped the water mark off the burnished wood.He was late.She finished the bourbon, put the glass in the sink, and walked out on the front porch where a cool breeze brought the singing of insects to her.The night was clear and through the arching limbs of the live oak in her yard she saw the round moon floating in black velvet.She shuddered as if someone had stepped on her grave.The high-pitched whine of a mosquito near her ear made her swat wildly, her finger painfully catching the gold hoop in her ear.It shouldn’t be so hot in the last days of October.The weather was unnatural.Something bad was bound to happen.She let the screen door slam behind her as she went back inside to look for her car keys.He was twenty minutes late, and she would not sit and wait for him.One of the lessons her mama had taught her was that waiting for a man was time lost forever.At thirty-four, Florence didn’t have time to waste.God had blessed her with firm flesh and sweet curves, but time had already begun to pull and tug.When she studied her face in the bright morning light, she saw the tiny wrinkles that would, in time, be fissures.Her breasts, so ripe and firm, would sag.She’d known older whores who tried to sell themselves and they disgusted her.Time was her most precious commodity and no one wasted it for her.Her keys were on the vanity and she picked them up, along with her purse.Her high heels clicked on the wood as she strode through her house snapping off lights.The screen creaked and she jutted out her butt to hold it back while she locked the door.A hand came out of the darkness and grabbed her buttocks, sliding over the curve of muscle to a place more intimate.“I’m sorry I’m late.Were you going out?”She left the keys in the lock and stepped into his arms.“Time doesn’t wait for no man and neither does Florence.” His aftershave was sharp and clean like a snapped pine branch.Her cheek brushed his chest and she felt the starch in his shirt.She liked a clean man, one who took pains to show respect for her.She limbered her spine and let her groin sink against him.His response was swift, eager.She laughed, loving the power she held over him.Though folks in town said he was half dead, she knew how to bring life to him.“What kept you, baby?”“I was out at the Bastion place and then had some things to do before I finished work.”Florence stepped back and in the dim light saw the trouble in his face.She took his hand.“Let’s go inside.”“I thought you were going out.”He was teasing her, but she didn’t care.She walked backward, pulling him inside by the hand.“I changed my mind.” Once he was inside, she latched the screen.His arms circled her from behind, pulling her against him where she felt again his desire for her.His hands gently captured her breasts, cupping them as he kissed her neck.“I would have called, but by the time I found a telephone I would have been even later.”“You want a drink?” She caught his hands and stilled them.Most of the time she was eager for a man to finish, pay, and leave.Raymond was not a paying customer, though.She wanted to make the evening last, to savor the hours they shared.She was playing with fire, but she couldn’t stop herself.“I’d like that.” He released her.She went to the kitchen and got the ice she’d already chipped and made two fresh drinks.Her body felt both heavy and light.Raymond stirred emotions that she knew were best left alone.Sexual desire was acceptable.That was the boundary Raymond had set for her—clearly set—before he began to see her on a regular basis.He gratified her in a way no other man did, because he could stretch time and sensation in a way she’d never experienced.Because this was more than just sex for her.That was a secret she could not share with him, else he would leave her.In the fantasies of a future life that she wove, he played a starring role
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