“What does that mean?”
“Mr. Colt somehow got the idea-you saw that-that you and I have become something more than professional associates…”
“And?”
“… and decided to share this perception with Mickey O’Hara, Peter Wohl, and Jason Washington.”
“My God, I hope you denied it!”
“Of course,” Matt said, “whereupon Stan showed his acceptance of my denial in the following manner.”
He winked broadly, mimicking Colt, and demonstrated the balled-fist, thumb-up gesture Colt had used.
“That sonofabitch!”
“Honey, he thought he was being funny.”
“His being funny blew my chances of getting in Homicide, ” she said, bitterly.
“Realistically, honey, there doesn’t seem to be much chance of that,” Matt said.
“Thanks a lot!”
“Well, there doesn’t,” he insisted. “At least right now.”
“I’m going to take a shower,” she snapped. “And then a cab.”
He watched her enter the bathroom.
After a moment, he reluctantly concluded that-however delightful an idea it was on the surface-there was not room in the shower for the both of them.
And besides, she’s already pissed that our shameful secret has become public knowledge.
He swung his legs out of bed, got fresh underwear, and went down the stairs to get the newspaper.
He started to read it as he climbed the stairs back to his apartment, and just as he reached the top, he saw that the picture that Eddie the photographer had taken of him and Stan Colt outside the Bellvue-Stratford was on page one of the Bulletin.
There was a rather lengthy caption:
Stan Colt, movie detective, in Philadelphia to raise money for West Catholic High, found time in his busy schedule to meet with the real thing. He is shown here arriving at the Mayor’s Reception at the Bellvue-Stratford with Sergeant M. M. Payne of the Phila. PD Homicide Unit. Payne will be showing Colt what police work is really like whenever Colt has a spare minute. (The full schedule of the Colt Fund-raising Visit can be found on page 2 of Section Four of today’s Bulletin.)
Matt remembered that Colt had said that the picture was the only one that would get printed.
Olivia was toweling herself by the side of the bed, which he found to be an interesting sight.
“I’m famous,” he said, showing her the newspaper.
Olivia glanced at it very quickly.
“Put your clothes on. You can drive me home,” she said.
“Oh, thank you, thank you!”
“I have three choices: putting on wet underwear, getting in a cab without my underwear, or you.”
“With or without underwear?”
“My God! Get dressed.”