Night Passage (A Jesse Stone Novel)

regard to “We’ve Only Just Begun.”
    “Do you like my dress?” she said. Her face was turned up to his and her lips almost brushed his face as she talked.
    “Yes, ma’am,” Jesse said.
    “You don’t think it’s too tight?”
    “No such thing,” Jesse said.
    “Men are all alike,” Cissy said. “They judge clothes by how much of a woman they show.”
    “You’re probably right,” Jesse said.
    “When a man is with a woman,” Cissy said, “clothes are just in the way.”
    Jesse said, “Un huh,” emphasizing the second syllable, trying to sound both interested and noncommittal. Not easy, he thought, while being dry-humped on the dance floor.
    “It’s why when I’m with a man,” Cissy said, her lips now actually brushing Jesse’s as she spoke, “I wear as little as possible.”
    The band segued into “I Left My Heart in San Francisco.”
    “Hasty’s a lucky man,” Jesse said. He was looking past Cissy’s shoulder for Abby.
    “Oh, Hasty,” she said. “I can’t wait around all year for Hasty.”
    Jesse smiled without speaking. He couldn’t think of anything to say to that. He was thinking of Suitcase.
    “Can you tell,” she whispered against his mouth, “that I’m not wearing anything under this dress?”
    “I wasn’t sure,” Jesse said.
    Cissy had a good body under her ridiculous dress. It was becoming difficult for Jesse to remain detached.
    “Is it something you might want to see?” she whispered.
    Christ! Jesse thought. Where’s Suit when you need him.
    “Is it?” Her mouth was against his.
    “Not right here,” Jesse said.
    “But somewhere you would, wouldn’t you. I can tell.”
    Jesse was still struggling for gallantry.
    “Anyone would,” he said.
    Cissy clamped her mouth against his and began to kiss him aggressively. Jesse felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Hasty, his bow tie blinking steadily.
    “Mind if I cut in?” Hasty said.
    Cissy continued to kiss him.
    Jesse pulled away and said, “No, not at all,” and turned Cissy, her eyes still half closed, into Hasty’s arms.
    The band began to play an old Beatles tune. He found Abby near the bar, with a martini. The bar had cleared somewhat as people danced.
    “Last Tango in Paris?” Abby said.
    “Help,” Jesse said.
    He ordered a fresh scotch from the bar.
    “How’s she stack up as a kisser?” Abby said.
    “There’s better,” Jesse said.
    “Good to know.”
    Abby’s eyes were bright and Jesse realized that she might be a little drunk too. He knew their relationship wasn’t helping her drinking. He picked up his scotch. Careful. He sipped a small sip and put the drink back down on the bar. Morris Comden, one of the other selectmen, came across the room and asked Jesse if he could have the next dance with Abby. It was the boldest thing Comden had done since Jesse had been in Paradise. At selectmen’s meetings, he sat quite still and watched Hasty so he’d know how to vote.
    “Ask her,” Jesse said.
    Abby smiled and said, “Of course,” and went to the dance floor with him. Over Comden’s shoulder on the floor, she stuck her tongue out at Jesse. Jesse smiled at her and sipped his scotch. Hasty Hathaway came to the bar.
    “Wild Turkey,” he said to the bartender. “Straight, one ice cube.”
    He got his drink and turned and put an arm around Jesse’s shoulder.
    “Wife gets a little giddy,” he said, “when she drinks.”
    “Sure,” Jesse said.
    Hasty took a drink.
    “Mother’s milk,” he said.
    Jesse nodded. The dancers labored about the floor. Most people were terrible dancers, Jesse thought. He wondered if Comden had been dispatched to dance with Abby, so that Hasty and he could talk man to man. He didn’t see Cissy anywhere.
    “Women are hard to figure, aren’t they, Jesse?”
    “Yes,” Jesse said, “they are.”
    “I guess you’ve had your share of trying to figure them out.”
    “Un huh.”
    “Being divorced and all.”
    “Still trying to figure that out,” Jesse said.
    “Well,” Hasty said, “that’s just how women are, I guess. When you want faster, they want slower. And when you want slower, they want fast.”
    Hasty shook his head.
    “You and Cissy seem happy,” Jesse said.
    “Ciss? Oh hell, sure we are. But even a happy marriage isn’t easy, is it? There are adjustments.”
    Hasty drank the rest of his Wild Turkey and ordered another.
    “Sexual problems?” Hasty said.
    “Who?” Jesse said.
    “In your first marriage. It’s usually sexual stuff