Faustus Resurrectus Read Online Free PDF

she swung her own helmet in one hand. He took a folded piece of cloth from his pocket and proffered it.
    “What’s this?” she asked
    “A blindfold.”
    “Mystery tour?” Her mouth curled in a half-smile filled with curiosity as she accepted it. “Am I dressed for it?”
    He kissed her. “You are dressed properly.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and went back for more. He matched her, then pulled back with a grin. “But I’m not telling you where we’re going. That’s why it’s called a ‘mystery tour.’”

    ***

    They rode into Manhattan across the Brooklyn Bridge. The lane was clear ahead of him, Joann held him tightly, and the weather was perfect.
    Lucky man.
    On Christopher Street he turned the Vulcan off the West Side Highway towards the center of Manhattan. They parked, and he helped her with her helmet.
    “Are we almost there?”
    “Almost.”
    They stepped into a building’s tiny lobby. A group of twentysomethings crowded in behind them. A baby-faced man in business casual business clothing saw the blindfold first. He smiled and whispered to his friends, who all turned to stare. Donovan winked and put his finger to his lips. When the elevator came, they urged him to bring her on alone. The door slid shut on their giggles.
    “I choose to believe that we are not being observed at the moment, and that we were not just the subject of scrutiny by person or persons unknown.”
    “Because that would be embarrassing.”
    “Because that would be embarrassing.” She touched and drew herself to him. “And, if we’re going to play games, I’d prefer to do it without an audience.”
    His lips had just touched hers when the elevator groaned to a stop and the doors shuddered open. Immediately she turned her head to the side. “It feels cool.” She sniffed. “It smells like wood, and air conditioning, and…people?”
    Donovan undid her blindfold. Joann blinked a few times to adjust her eyes, and when she saw where they were she turned to him with a big smile. “Dance House?”
    “Dance House.”
    Dance House was a studio that offered dance lessons of all kinds, from Latin to swing to ballroom and hustle. They’d been talking about taking lessons for months, and now she eagerly made her way into the studio’s lobby.
    “Since I’ve done some swing already,” he said, “I thought it might be a good idea to start there. If you want, we can do the salsa class afterwards, too.”
    She stepped into a studio filled with couples. The air inside was dusty and a little warm with excess body heat. Along a side concrete wall, a boom box was set up on a table. CDs lay scattered around it, in and out of jewel boxes. Mirrors lined the wall perpendicular to the windows. The hardwood floor was dull but still shiny in the corners where feet hadn’t scuffed it learning “one-two-cha-cha-cha.”
    She turned to him, gold flecks shining in her eyes.
    “Swing, salsa; let’s do it all.”

    ***

    “Excuse me, sir, are you Stuart Brandeis?”
    Brandeis paused at the bottom of the steps to his Cobble Hill brownstone. The man asking was well dressed, with a kind smile and a bit of a twinkle in his eye. He clutched a messenger bag to his side as though afraid it might be snatched from him at any moment.
    Process server? Brandeis wondered. The Brooklyn court house wasn’t too far from where they stood, and he had been having problems with his ex-wife…
    “Did Victoria send you? Is this about an alimony payment?” Brandeis asked, his lip curling into a sneer. “Because I told her I was restructuring my mortgage to give her her pound of flesh.”
    “No, no, quite the opposite. I’m a representative for Mrs. Brandeis.” He proffered a business card. “She has asked me to approach you and see if you might be interested in reconciliation.”
    Brandeis took it and read:

    CORNELIUS VALDES
    Attorney

    “What do you mean, ‘reconciliation’?”
    Valdes heard the shift in his voice, saw the anger in his eyes