Golden Dancer Read Online Free PDF Page B

who held you on the toilet when you were so sick you couldn’t poop by yourself? Baby, this is serious.”
    “It’s not that big a deal.” Who was he kidding?
    “Oh really?” So, he wasn’t kidding her. Must be the other person on the premises.
    He got up for more tea. “I had this weird idea I could write a profile on the guy for the Window .”
    She stretched her legs out on the couch. “So why’s that weird? Woo would love to have a profile of a celebrity like him.”
    “Yeah, that’s what I figure. Plus the investigation of Terrebone has cut down on my output some, so I figured it was a win-win.” He sat and sipped. “So, we went to dinner together, uh, so I could interview him.”
    She was very still for a few seconds. “Mac, did you have sex with Trelain Medveyev?”
    “Shit!” Hell, cold! Iced tea flowed all over his lap. He jumped up, ran for the kitchen, and grabbed a towel, mopping at his wet crotch.
    She giggled. “That struck a nerve.”
    “No, it struck my balls, which are about to shrivel to the size of raisins. Shit, why would you say that?” He mopped some more, but it was hopeless. Soaked to the skin. She started to answer. “No wait. I gotta change these pants. Think about how fucking repentant you are for accusing your best friend of being gay while I strip.”
    He stalked down the short hall to his bedroom, putting on a show about what an ungrateful wretch she was, but his blood felt cold in his veins. Why would she say that? He pulled off the cargoes and his underwear, left them in a heap, and grabbed a pair of floppy shorts. He yanked them on commando, then leaned against his dresser. Crap, he wanted to escape through the window. He did not want to hear why she’d asked that question. But he knew he’d drive himself nuts guessing. He had more curiosity than sense, so he’d better find out.
    He pushed off from the dresser and walked down the hall lined with photos of him and some of the celebrities, statesmen, and murderers he’d interviewed. Who’d have thought a profile of a fucking ballet dancer would be the one to do him in?
    She hadn’t moved, just flipped through a magazine and sipped tea as if she hadn’t just asked the guy she’d once had sex with if he fucked guys.
    He flopped into the slightly damp chair. “So, was I that bad?”
    She looked up. “What?”
    “When we had sex, was I so bad you figured I was gay?”
    She smiled and put the magazine on the end table. “Mac, the sex we had was fine.”
    “Fine! Shit, that’s the ‘nice personality’ of the sex world.”
    That made her laugh. “We both know what we had was never passion. So the sex was nice, pleasant, but didn’t set the world on fire, okay?”
    He looked down at the worn hardwood floor. Not like a certain handjob that had kept him tingling until morning. “Yeah, I guess. So why did you ask that question?”
    “You remember Jerry, that intern we had?”
    “Yeah, cute little twink.” Oh, he shouldn’t have said that.
    She glanced at him. “Yeah, I remember you told me that at the time. Anyway, he had a huge crush on you. Did you know that?”
    He shrugged. “Kind of.”
    “I kept telling him to leave you alone because you were straight. He insisted he had the best gaydar in southern California, and you were not straight. He said bi maybe, but not straight.”
    “Crap, Debbie. You believed him? I’m your friend, for crap’s sake.”
    She leaned forward, hands on knees, staring at him. “Mac, first off, why would I care if my friend was straight or gay or bi? It makes no difference to me. I didn’t believe him, as you say, but it is true that you have a miserable love life. Have you ever been in love, or even really been gone on a girl?”
    Had he? “I really liked Betty back in high school. We dated for three years.”
    “Have a lot of sex?”
    He looked at the floor again. “Well, no, she was a virgin.” He sat back. “But she gave me a lot of head, and I loved it.”
    “Sure,