Cat in a hot pink Pursuit

thank goodness.
    “So. How was Chicago?” she asked.
    He was still speechless.
    “Well?”
    “I found my father.”
    “Matt! No. I can’t believe it. You found out who he was, finally?”
    “No. I found out who he is. Found him.”
    “Found his grave, you mean?”
    “No. Him. The Jonathan my mother only knew by his first name. I had to stake out the Winslow family lawyer’s office to do it. You’d have been proud of me, undercover detective.”
    “But, Matt, wasn’t he supposed to be dead? My God! You’re so calm.”
    “His family told my mother he was dead to get rid of her, and me. It’s all over. We met and talked. It’s pretty disconcerting to meet someone you resemble for the first time, but he’s a stranger, after all. It wasn’t his fault. His family was wealthy and controlling, which goes together all too often. They high-handedly rearranged his life too.”
    “I can’t believe it.”
    “It’s pretty amazing. My mother wanted to find out who he was. The family had told her, via their attorney, that he’d died overseas and they gave her a two-flat, a Chicago-style duplex, as a sort of settlement. So she never expected to see him again on this planet. When it happened, when I discovered him while badgering the attorney’s office—”
    “‘Badgering’? You?”
    “When some high-end attorney starts brushing you off with obvious evasions it makes you pretty dam mad. I thought I might find his parents. My grandparents. I wanted no more to do with them than they had wanted to do with me thirty-five years ago. I only did it because my mother wanted closure and I thought that would be healthy for her. She’s never really tried for a real life of her own. So... I find him. And she wanted nothing more to do with it. Or him. Funny. I couldn’t have cared less until it happened.”
    “So, what’s the story?”
    “Ancient history. His family kept them apart, kept him ignorant of her, and me. He’s got a whole new family, and life. Seems like a decent guy. He feels pretty cheated too. My mother’s... not happy. I’m okay with it. I’m here.” Temple plopped down next to him, forcing Louie to scramble for new high ground: the cushion tops behind them.
    “Amazing. You’re so calm.”
    “What does it change? It was Romeo and Juliet from two different classes instead of clans. Their families imposed their own priorities on their wayward kids. I feel for my mother but it’s too late to change anything. Except,” he added, “the present. So what kind of tangle have you been involved with while I was gone?”
    She told him, including her reservations about the Molina/Nadir/ Larry/Mariah quadrangle.
    “Wow. Carmen is ratcheting up the stakes on all fronts, isn’t she?”
    “Carmen? You call her that? Since when?”
    “Occasionally. When I really want her attention. Her name is the key to her background. That’s why she doesn’t use it professionally. Carmen Regina. Regina means ‘Queen of Heaven.’ All very Hispanic and very Catholic.”
    “I’m not very Catholic.”
    ‘That’s what I like about you.”
    “Why?”
    “I get to keep the guilt concession all to myself when I’m with you.”
    She looked a little nervous. He discovered he loved being able to make her nervous.
    “Guilt isn’t a Unitarian thing,” she said finally.
    “Fine. Leave it up to me.”
    “Have you something guilty in mind?”
    “Maybe. Let’s go out.”
    “The Bellagio, you said.”
    “The new you deserves it.”
    “You won’t be ashamed to be seen with my blatantly blonde hair?”
    “I wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen with you with chartreuse hair. I’ve still got a couple days left on my vacation from the radio station. They’re running ‘Mr. Midnight’s Classic Moments’ this week.” Matt shrugged an apology at the corniness of his employer. “Okay if I pick you up tomorrow at eight? I’m thinking of that purple taffeta dress you wore once.”
    “You want me to wear it again?”
    “It wasn’t too shabby.”
    “You want me to dress a certain way?”
    “Catholic guilt.”
    She hesitated before answering. “That’s kinda... erotic.”
    “The best kind of guilt.”
    “Not the black with the buttons—?”
    “Not this time.”
    She swallowed. She was right. This conversation was getting incredibly erotic. “‘This time’?”
    “I hope so.”
    “Matt—?”
    “Temple.”
    “You are way too... confident.”
    “You like dithering?”
    “Maybe.”
    “Tomorrow.