Line of Fire by Stephen White Read Free Book Online

woman doing a curtsy. Recent experience informed me that she could hold that pose for a long time.
    I think Sam was transfixed by Ophelia from that moment on. Prior to that day, he had been hanging on to a long-distance love affair that ended the way cars run out of fuel on flat ground. Gradually. Sam woke one morning to the awareness that he’d been dumped a couple of miles back. The slow death of that love didn’t ease his recovery from being dumped. His reaction to Ophelia was the first indication that he had any interest in climbing back into the relationship driver’s seat.
    Ophelia could have that kind of effect on a single man. Even at thirty paces, given halfway-normal distance vision.
    “Sure,” I said. “I’m happy to introduce you. I think, maybe, you’ll like her.”
    “Maybe?”
    “She’s an independent thinker,” I said. “There was a time when you might have had trouble with her . . . perspective on things.”
    “But I’ve grown?” Sam said, daring me to argue. He looked at me for a moment, which meant he looked away from Ophelia for a moment. I think he took his eyes from her just to prove to himself that he could. Then he said, “Should we, I don’t know, give her a chance to . . . finish what she’s doing? Maybe cover up a little?”
    “You mean her breasts?” By then, I was no longer bashful about Ophelia’s breasts. I had come to a certain acceptance that she wasn’t.
    Sam said, “They’re almost . . . exposed.”
    I was tempted to point out to Sam that if the angle were a little better, or if he stepped a little closer, he would likely discover that all the important parts were indeed available for inspection. But he would learn all that himself soon enough.
    I said, “If you’re waiting for Ophelia to pull on a sweater, it’s not going to happen unless a cold front blows through. That outfit is pretty much par for the course. I’m thinking winter may bring a change, a genuflection to the climate, so to speak. If this makes you uncomfortable, I’ll get back to you come November, introduce you then.”
    “Really?” Sam asked. “That’s how she dresses?”
    “That’s a casual look. She dresses it up when she goes out. But otherwise? Yes.”
    “Lauren doesn’t care?”
    “We don’t talk about Ophelia’s anatomy much, but as far as I can tell, Lauren is pro-boob, and rather amused by it all. I think Gracie coming-of-age might prompt a maternal reconsideration. But for now, my wife is cool. The ladies get along well.”
    Sam said, “Sherry would have put blinders on me. She is so not pro-boob.”
    I smiled at the image of Sam with blinders. “This extended curtsy will last a couple more minutes. It’s her personal homage to the evening celestial show.”
    “Like a spiritual thing?” Sam asked.
    Sam was old school. Where spiritual inclinations were concerned, he preferred organized religion—the more organized the better, as long as it didn’t involve Catholics or Mormons doing the organizing—to any free-form spirituality. Especially to any of the out-on-the-edge spiritual movements he tended to trip over from time to time in Boulder.
    Boulder had rubbed off on Sam. He recognized that an occasional meal could be composed without contributions from animals. He exercised outdoors. He had learned to appreciate the nuances of the local microbrews.
    But New Age anything so wasn’t his thing.
    “It is spiritual,” I said. “But not formal. She’s not a Druid, or a Wiccan, if that’s what worries you. What she practices seems to be within the realm of garden-variety Boulder spirituality.”
    “That’s supposed to be reassuring?” Sam said. “Is she Tantric?”
    Tantric?
“Would that be good, or bad? From your perspective?”
    He did a little two-step. I had no idea what that was about. He said, “I’ve been curious. I’ll admit that.”
    “Maybe Ophelia’s your girl,” I said.
    His phone appeared again. He said, “I can Google it.”
    “No