Dir Saber P.i.: Jane Russell

This is how the relationship with my Jane Russell fantasy ends.

As I lay in our wet spot thinking about the future, stewing in my own juice, so to speak, I held Becky in my arms as she slept. The purr of her breathing washed pleasantly across my bare skin with each susurration. A feeling I didn't want to let go of, but had to. Her smell, our smell mixed together, caused me to inhale deeply as if I were a starving man at a feast. Our pheromones combined like benign chemicals, that mixed together, caused an explosion.

The reality of my situation foretold a less combustible future. What I couldn't understand was this; if Becky was so traumatized by the murderous attack years ago, how could she pose as a sex symbol without fear of attracting unwanted advances? How could she have sex with me, someone she'd only known for 24 hours? Was her cosplay fantasy so complete she could escape from reality? Was anything I've learned about her true? I needed facts, not fantasy.

After slowly untangling myself from our embrace, I dressed and went to my office to continue my research. Earlier in the day, I'd searched the web for information about Rebecca Renaldi, but was interrupted before I could search for information about her alleged stalker, Boyd Schlitzmiester, A.K.A. Lloyd Fairweather. So I picked up where I left off, and started a new search. Nothing came back from the search on Boyd, but the search for Lloyd Fairweather returned with information that matched exactly what Becky had said. He was an actor. He was a Bela Lugosi impersonator. No criminal record. At least he wasn't a figment of her imagination.

Then I searched the L.A. Times website for murders committed three years ago. And, as expected, that was also true, although Becky's name was not released to the public. A photograph of the slain doctor was in print, young and handsome, and I wondered if there had been more between Becky and him than work.

All the relevant facts I'd heard were true, which gave me some relief. I would continue her protection on the assumption that Fairweather was a legitimate threat, until proven otherwise. As far as Becky's mental state -- what motivated her behavior -- I'd leave that to the shrinks. My involvement would become purely business. I'd steel my heart. Live in the moment with no hope of a future together.

Two soft knocks on the office door brought me back to the here and now. "Who's there?"

"Wanda."

"Wanda who?"

"Wanda what you're doing."

Closing my laptop, I answered, "Just doing some research on a case. You can come in."

Becky opened the door and leaned her shoulder against the jamb, smiling at me with sleepy eyes.

"You're naked," I said, ogling unashamedly.

"Very observant, Detective."

"Thanks. I pride myself on my attention to detail."

"What else do you see?"

Damn. The devil is always in the details. I narrowed my focus, and looked only with investigative eyes. I answered, "I see wild, dark hair framing a beautiful face. The face has pink cheeks, chafed by a man's stubble. I see the pink burn travels down your neck and over your breasts." My eyes moved lower, and I said, "I see matted pubic hair, and dried bodily fluids between your thighs."

"Very good Detective. So what do you deduce from these clues?"

I couldn't help but grin, lean back, and put my hands behind my head, saying, "You had very satisfying sexual intercourse recently."

"Excellent!" She laughed, and added, "And you know what else? Everyone at the theater that's old enough to know what beard-burn looks like will know that, too."

Frowning, I said, "Sorry", but wasn't. "Anything I can do?"

"Shave."

"Hey, you started it. You came to my bed, remember?" I said in my defense. Then it dawned on me. "Shaving won't help now."

She quirked her lips, and said, "You're right... not this time," leaving the possibility of future times hanging like a blown kiss. "I came to your room to feel safe. That's why I hired you."

'Self-restraint', I thought, as my desire to get up, hold her tight, and bury my face in her tousled hair grew. "That's all you wanted... to feel safe? I guess you know better now. You can't come into my room naked and lay in my bed without suffering the consequences."

"Mmm, you promise?" she said, turning away. "I need another shower."

Raising my voice to the empty doorway, I said, "I'm going to start grilling salmon for dinner. You don't want to be late for work, Ms. Russell."

"Okay, I won't be long. I'll make a salad after my shower," she shouted, just before the clunk of the bathroom door.

Another salad? Why?

While I grilled the salmon, Dick lay in the shade of the picnic table. The peace and quiet refreshed my spirit. I was able to relax. Feel free in my solitude.

Twenty minutes later, Becky announced through an open window, "The salad's ready whenever you are."

I transferred the fish to a platter and carried it into the air conditioned kitchen. The table was set, and wine glasses were filled. Pointing at the unexpected beverage, I said, "Where'd that come from?"

"It's mine. I have a few bottles saved."

"Wine before work?"

Placing the salad bowls on the table, she said, "One glass won't hurt. Besides, I don't have to be there for two hour."

As I reflected on her feminine curves encased in a green, silk kimono, I said, "I don't like wine."

"Have you ever had a good wine -- the kind that doesn't come in a box?"

Not really, but she didn't have to know that. "Are you saying I'm unsophisticated?"

"I'm saying, try it. You'll like it. It's a 2005 Sticks Yarra Valley Pinot Noir, perfect with salmon. The vintner is Rob Dolan. He played Australian football. It's not a sissy-man's wine."

"Sticks?"

"That's his nickname from his playing days."

"Sounds more like a drummer." After placing a salmon steak on each of our plates, I quietly took my seat, thinking, 'I don't like change,' and glanced at the beer filled refrigerator. Feeling uncomfortable with recent developments, it was time to apply my subtle interrogation skills to eke out some more truth. "Why'd you give up being a nurse?" Okay, subtlety is not my strong suit.

Becky's salad fork stopped halfway to her lips. She said, "How did you know... I was a nurse?"

"I'm a detective. I have resources not available to the general public," I said, and then thought, 'sources like your brother.'

Abandoning her fork and picking up the wine glass, she took several pause-to-think sips. "I was a pediatric nurse and got tired of seeing children suffer. I couldn't cope with the heartache anymore."

"It must be difficult to deal with the loss of a child you've cared for, become attached to. But isn't it rewarding when they pull through?"

Looking at her plate, she said, "Yes. Very."

"I bet you were an exceptional nurse because you did care so much."

She didn't comment. Instead, she picked up the fork and began eating again. I think her protective cosplay bubble popped when I brought up the past. All the bad memories came back to the surface plain as the nose on her authentic, Renaldi, face.

I added, "You can't make enough money to live independently by working at the movie theater, and there can't be much demand for actresses around here. But there are hospitals, and doctor's offices."

"Sounds like you're trying to get rid of me."

"No. I'm just thinking about your future." Then I mustered all my own acting abilities, and said, "I'm also thinking about your capacity to pay for my services."

What looked like hurt flashed in her glance before turning away. "I can afford you... for a few days. Besides... I thought I was working off my fee."

Did 'working off' mean fucking? "Yes you are, but Monday I have to start a new case that is time sensitive. I won't be able to stay with you."

Her fork rake through salad greens for long seconds. "Can't I just stay here while you work? I'd be safe with Dick."

Dick, lying next to the table, stood at the mention of his name and wagged his tail, hopeful for a handout.

I felt like a dick for trying to get rid of her. Then it dawned on me that I was a dick for mixing business with pleasure. "Let me think about it." I swallowed some salmon, and asked, "Would your brother take you in?"

Hesitantly, she said, "He would. But I don't want to upset his life."

Seeing a possible exit strategy, I said, "Let's see what happens tonight. I think if Fairweather is stalking you, he'll show up at the theater. I'll give you a pendant with a built-in panic button that sends a message to my cellphone. Push it if you see him before I do. It has GPS, so I'll be able to locate you no matter what."

"My movie costume doesn't include a necklace."

"Does it have pockets?"

"Yes. I'll keep it in my pocket, then."

I swallowed the last bite of salmon, and carried my plate to the sink.

She said, "Leave it there. I'll clean up."

As I broke up a salmon steak and mixed it in with Dick's dog food, I said, "Thanks for the wine. I liked it."

"You're welcome," she said, placing her plate in the sink and running the water hot. "After I'm done doing the dishes I'll be in my room curling my hair and getting ready."

I picked up the dish towel, stood beside her, and waited for the first clean plate off the assembly line. While I waited, I passed the time surreptitiously enjoying the movement of her breasts under the silk robe and the nipple bumps that grew from the chafing as she scrubbed. During the first rinse, water splashed off the plate, landed on Becky's robe, and pasted the silk against her skin.

My thoughts wandered. And out of the blue I fantasized about how making things move with my mind would be a fun super power. Stopping criminals by dropping their pants, making them trip. Then make them punch themselves while asking, 'Why are you punching yourself?' When they'd beaten themselves senseless, I'd wrap them up in duct tape. No spider web shooting from my wrists required. But then there would be the temptation to do naughty things, like cause a sudden wind up a skirt, or the unexpected failure of spaghetti straps on a blouse, or splashing water on a braless woman's silk robe. I glanced down at Becky's wet robe as she handed me the next plate, trying to remember what that power was called. Then it came to me, and I mumbled, "Telekinesis."

"What? Telekinesis?"

"I was just thinking. That would be a fantastic super power."

"What made you think of that?"

"Catching criminals like that would be fun."

She laughed. "You're weird." Then confessed, "I always thought being a genie, like Barbara Eden in 'I Dream of Jeannie' would be amazing." Then, handing me a wine glass, she added, "But there's a big problem with that."

"What's that?"

"The limitations."

"There's limitations?"

"Well, the biggest one is whoever holds the receptacle has command over the genie, and forcing them to grant their wishes. I wouldn't want to be under the control of an evil master."

"Good point. But even a good person would be tempted to do bad things."

Becky bumped me with her hip, and said, "I think you'd be a good master."

"Really? I don't know. Occasionally, I have some pretty evil thoughts."

"We all do. But good people have restraint. They choose to do good over evil. You're a good guy."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I said, feeling guilty for having lascivious thoughts.

When the dishes were done, we went our separate ways -- she to her room to get ready, me to let Dick out. Once he was loose in the backyard, he ran to the west side and put his nose in the air. Dick began to pace along the fence line and whimper. I knew what that meant. The wind direction had changed.

"Is Sheila in heat again? Can't be. It's too late in the year."

Dick looked at me with his 'My nose says yes, and I want to get laid,' eyes.

My neighbors, the Gridley's, breed Labrador Retrievers. Every six months my Dick goes nuts, because he still has his nuts. I kept him intact so I could breed him someday. But now I think I'm just torturing him.

"Chill out, Buddy. Maybe we'll visit Doc Simmons next month and take care of that need-to-breed urge."

Dick ignored me and kept pacing. Well, at least he was getting some exercise.

I went back to my room and stood in front of the clothes closet, deciding on what I should wear. Should I stand out in the crowd and look like Becky's bodyguard, or should I try and blend in so if Fairweather showed up he wouldn't be suspicious? My loud Hawaiian shirt reminded me of the Halloween costume I wore two years ago -- Magnum P.I. Tonight, that would make sense. If I dressed like Magnum I might be mistaken as just another celebrity impersonator. The big mustache was in my disguise kit. The Detroit Tiger's cap sat on the closet shelf. I'd wear aviator sunglasses to hide my eyes while I scanned the crowd. Why shouldn't I have fun at work? So I put on the shorts, shirt, hat, and mustache and waited for 'Jane Russell' to emerge from the guest room.

The time to leave finally arrived. Knocking on her door, I said, "Are you ready? We should go soon."

"Be right out."

I went outside, and started the van to cool it down. When I walked back into kitchen through the backdoor, Becky walked into the kitchen from the hallway. My heart jumped, my breathing stopped, and my eyes roamed over the vision before me. She wore a Mexican peasant blouse with a scoop neck that showed off her cleavage beautifully. Around her waist she wore a belt of silver medallions that held up a knee length skirt. Her dark hair cascaded in waves over her shoulders.

Forgetting my extensive vocabulary, I said, "Wow!"

The funny thing is, she said, "Wow!" at the same time. Then added, "You look just like Magnum P.I. I love it!"

"You think so? It's an old Halloween costume. I thought you might get a kick out of it." Then I waved my hand up and down at her, and said, "You look... gorgeous."

Her face grew serious as she stepped up close. Looking up into my eyes, she whispered, "Let me try it out."

Confused, I wasn't picking up what she was laying down, until she put her hand behind my head and pulled my lips to hers. She kissed softly. Then not so. Wet and active would best describe the action.

"Mmm," she moaned, breaking away. "I've never kissed anyone with a mustache. I like it." She patted my chest and walked away, saying, "Makes me wonder how it would feel other places. Let's get going."

I bit my tongue and followed her out to the van with an uncomfortably tight crotch.

When we arrived at the theater, we entered the empty lobby. Jeff was busy putting Junior Mints into the candy display. He looked up, smiled at Becky, and said, "Great! Glad you're here."

Then he gave me a look that was less than glad, and seemed kind of miffed. I thought that was understandable, considering how I'd taken advantage of his sister's anxiety.

While Jeff went over Becky's job responsibilities, I admired 'The Outlaw' movie posters he'd put up for the showing. They looked old. "Jeff, are these reproductions?"

Pausing in his cash register instructions, he said, "No. They're originals. I found them in the basement. That's what gave me the idea for the film retrospective. There are a lot of old ones down there."

"I bet they're rare, and be worth a lot of money to collectors."

He didn't answer me, but went back to instructing his sister.

I continued my poster admiration, stepping from one to the next. Occasionally I would glance from the movie posters to Becky, marveling at her resemblance to Jane. Then, during one of these comparisons, I noticed Jeff's hand move to her ass while they were discussing the soda machine on the back counter. She swiftly swatted it away, glared at him, and mouthed a silent, "Stop!"

Jeff, you're an asshole, was my first thought. Then I pondered the ramifications of his actions. They weren't really blood relatives, after all. He was her stepbrother. Earlier, Becky said she didn't want to stay with Jeff and upset his life. But maybe it was more like she didn't want to cause a problem in his marriage. My plan on releasing her to the safe custody her brother fizzled out.

For the time being, Becky was stuck with me. Poor girl. She had nowhere to go that didn't include being sexually harassed.

Around six-thirty, the customers began trickling in. Most were senior citizens, probably wanting to relive some youthful experience. Becky chatted with them as they bought their tickets and snacks. The old men were especially attentive. The women were friendly with Becky and patient with their men, understanding their harmless fantasies. Maybe even some were hoping for a rejuvenated sex drive later.

Some of the women even made positive comments on my impromptu Magnum impersonation. One tiny white haired lady had her friend take a picture of us with her arm around me. Afterwards, she gave my ass a squeeze, and said, "Thanks, Handsome."

Becky caught the action and gave me a conspiratorial wink. I guess it's different when the person doing the squeezing is harmless, unlike her stepbrother.

Once the movie started, the lobby remained empty and there was nothing for Becky to do but wait for stragglers and refills. She sat behind the counter with her head propped up on her hand. Her expression far off.

"Bored?"

"Totally. But I'm glad you're here to protect me, Magnum."

Thinking, I'd never be bored with seeing her smile, I said, "I'll be right back. I'm going outside and check the perimeter."

"Mmm, you make math sound sexy."

Math? Oh, perimeter. She's quick, and funny. "Well then. I look forward to triangulating with you later." Dumb response, but she laughed as I stepped out the door.

The sun was low on the horizon. The temperature was still above eighty. No one loitered on the sidewalk. No one sat inside a parked car. No one looked suspiciously like Bela Lugosi. Although a tall, gaunt woman that exited the laundromat across the street gave me a start.

I walked to the corner and looked both ways at the intersection. Then I thought, Intersection. Intersect. I liked the way Becky and I crossed our X and Y axis. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, asking myself, what should I do about my attraction to Becky? God, I wanted her. But if she was truly messed up emotionally, why would I sign up for that heartache? Didn't I learn my lesson with Watson?

My phone vibrated in my pocket, breaking into my thoughts. I unlocked the screen to see that Becky had pushed her panic button. Spinning around, I sprinted back to the theater, and burst into the lobby. A startled Jeff turned away from an anxious Becky. Her hair was mussed and her blouse was only half tuck in.

I didn't have to say or do anything, just glare. Jeff hustled away through the door that led up to the projection room.

When he was gone, I asked, "Are you all right?"

She tucked in the blouse, saying, "Yes. Thanks for coming so fast. I didn't want to knee him in the nuts. He is my boss... and stepbrother after all." The weak grin she gave looked sad and discouraged.

I stepped behind the counter and stood beside her, "Do you want to leave?"

"No. I'll stay until closing. Jeff is struggling to keep this place open, and I promised him I'd be here."

"I don't think he deserves your loyalty after what I saw."

Becky sighed and a tear ran down her cheek. Wiping it away angrily, she said, "I know, but even if his marriage fails, he still has to support his kids. I'll still be their Aunt Becky. I'll just have to find another job."

"I won't leave the building."

She smiled. "Thank you. I don't think he'll try anything again. You really scared him. You looked so intimidating, crashing through the door like that -- all sweaty and macho."

"If he comes back I'll separate his numerator from his denominator."