Act of God

on my rear end. What should we do?”
    “Try to get this the rest of the way up.”
    “Can you?”
    “I think going up will be easier than sliding back down.” She heard something in my voice that made her say, “John, thank you for this.”
    Using my right shoulder this time, I managed to drive the dresser back up the remaining steps like it was a blocking sled on an inclined football field. At the top, we got it upright, and Nancy maneuvered around the thing to give me another hug.
    “That was above and beyond the call of duty, sir.”
    “I’ll remember that.”
    When Nancy opened the apartment door, her gray-tiger cat scuttled out. Renfield was getting used to his rear legs not working quite right from an operation he’d needed on them, so he could move crablike pretty well. The sight of the bureau at first intimidated him, making him hide under the kitchen table. Then, once we had it against the wall in the bedroom, he couldn’t get enough of it, sniffing and rubbing against the carved legs.
    I said, “A good thing you had his front claws removed.”
    “Yes, but you know how they have to do that.”
    “No.”
    “They actually chop off the first knuckle of his toes.”
    “Hope they won’t have to do that with me.”
    “Why?” she said, slipping out of her shorts.
    “Because of the grievous injuries I suffered on your staircase.”
    “Yeah, right.”
    “I mean it, Nance. This may have to go to court.”
    “Forget it. The legal fees would eat you alive.”
    “I could represent myself.”
    A laugh.
    I said, “Does that mean that if I represented myself I’d have a fool for a client?”
    Nancy undid the buttons on her blouse. “John, anybody who represented you would have a fool for a client.”
    “Care to kiss a fool?”
    “And then some.” She opened the blouse and reached both arms up and around my neck. When she applied a little pressure on my left side, the shoulder twinged and the knee started to buckle again.
    Breaking the kiss, Nancy said, “What’s the matter?”
    “My shoulder and my knee can’t seem to take much weight.” She canted her head. “Does that mean no hanky-panky for the assistant D.A. tonight?”
    “That may depend.”
    “On what?”
    “On how much you remember about playing the clarinet.” Nancy canted her head the other way. “John Francis Cuddy, I do believe that is the raciest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
    “The circumstances demand it.”
    “So long as you never do.”
    “Never.”
    She smiled the great smile. “I think... a concerto, then.”

4

    “How’s the shoulder?”
    I opened my eyes. Nancy was standing over me, holdingRenfield against her blouse, the skirt to a blue suit, pantyhose, and dress shoes already on below it.
    “What time...?”
    “Going on eight.”
    “You should have gotten me up, Nance.”
    “I wanted to be able to use the bathroom first. Besides, after the ‘grievous injuries’ last night, I thought your body could use the healing power of sleep.” She narrowed her eyes. “Seriously, John, how do you feel?”
    I rolled my left arm a little on the bed. “Okay, I think.”
    “And the knee?”
    I flexed it. “No pain.”
    Nancy exhaled. “I’m so glad.”
    “Of course, I may have a relapse.”
    The canted head. “Calling for an encore on the clarinet?”
    “It’s rapidly becoming my favorite instrument.”
    “We’ll see how frisky you are tonight.”
    “Tonight?”
    She looked at me, a little strangely. “I thought I’d take you out to dinner, to thank you for all your help. Of course, if you have other plans...”
    “I don’t. It’s just—”
    “Fine, then,” she said, but a little subdued, then checking her watch with a very upbeat “I’ve got to go. Occupy Renfield till I’m out of here, then help yourself to the fridge.”
    Easing the cat onto the bed, Nancy kissed me good-bye, but only on the forehead.
    Renfield’s eyes followed her out of the room. As soon as the apartment door closed, he nuzzled my hand, then began licking it, his tongue like sandpaper.
    “Hey, Renfield, leave a little skin on that, okay?”
    He squinted up at me, purred, and doubled the tempo of his licking.
    When his hindquarters got hurt, Nancy took him to the vet’s for the curative operation, but she had to be out of town when it was time to pick him up. When I did, he’d been in bad shape: shaved from the belly downward, groggy from the anesthetic, and hurting from his rearranged legs. I’d stayed up with