Our orgasm was long and quiet. We locked onto each other and crashed into the spasms of ecstasy we knew well, yet not at all. Tristan collapsed against me and I held onto him for a long while.
"Stay with me," he whispered into my hair. "Stay safe, with me."
"I am safe," I answered. "Safe with you."
***
The plane touched down at Teterboro a little after seven in the evening, local time. I should have felt tired, but I was so keyed up and anxious that I couldn't wait to get off the plane. I wanted to be with my father. I knew he'd be just about losing his mind with worry.
Kwan got us to Park Slope in record time. I called ahead and Dad was waiting for me when the car pulled up outside our house. I could see him pacing in the living room--a shadow on the lace curtains that hung on the windows there.
There were cop cars on the street and a uniformed officer was sitting on the lower step in front of the house drinking a cup of coffee. Tristan and I bolted past him, taking the steps two at a time.
"Daddy!" I rushed into my father's arms.
"Oh, Angelcakes . . ." he held me tight and I could hear him choking on his tears."It's all my fault. I should have shut my trap like your mom told me to."
"It's going to be all right, Daddy. We'll get her back." Even though I had seen my father cry on occasion--when Grandma died, when we lost Chester, his beloved cocker spaniel, even when his grandkids were born--it was still hard. I wiped the tears away from the corners of his eyes and kissed his worried brow.
Tristan was huddled in the corner with a couple of plain clothes guys and the man I instantly figured was Archie and the unmistakable George. George was even slighter than Kwan. Even though I knew the guys were capable, measured against the kind of men who I'd seen at occasional protests or rallies, the Asian men just didn't seem very intimidating.
I sat my father down at the kitchen table and went to get something to drink. I suppose I needed to do something--anything--to feel at least a little useful. My father accepted the glass of water I gave him and I sat down beside him. We waited for the group of men to finish their briefing. It was short; most of what needed to be said had already been handled by phone.
Tristan joined us at the table. He had a piece of paper in his hand that Archie had given him.
"This is your list of people who know your wife's nickname. I know you've been over this somewhat, but I'd like to go over the list again."
"I appreciate your efforts, Tristan, but I explained more than once that only our family and closest friends would call Marjorie 'Jazzy'. There has to be some mistake. Maybe George misheard something."
"Don, George has a heavy accent, but his hearing is perfect. I want you to consider the possibility that the kidnapping is not related to the union problem. Maybe someone is using the union issue as a convenient cover."
My father looked confused.
"Dad, how many people on that list know about Tristan and me?" Difficult as it was to accept, I was forcing myself to consider the possibility that Tristan wasn't just being paranoid. Dad looked at the list, but it was clear he was having trouble focusing. "This is important," I persisted.
"Honestly, I can't remember discussing the two of you with anybody. Why would I? I just met Tristan. You know I haven't time for gossip, even about you, Honey. I don't mean any disrespect to either of you, but until there's a ring on someone's finger . . ."
Tristan smiled a little at that remark. "I completely understand. What about your wife?"
"I can't speak for her. She might have told any number of the hens she hangs around with. Why is this so important?"
"Because I think that it is very possible, I would say even likely, that someone abducted Marjorie to extort money from me. Your trouble with the unions would be the obvious rationale for the kidnapping and throw any investigation well off the scent."
"If they hadn't used Mom's nickname . . ."
"Why you, Tristan? Who the hell are you? I've never even heard of you."
"It doesn't surprise me. I'm not a very public figure."
"Dad, Tristan is extremely . . . wealthy . . . and well connected," I motioned to the group in the corner of the living room. "As you have seen."
"So . . ." my father spoke slowly, "your theory is that someone my wife spoke to connected the dots and used my union troubles as an opportunity to grab Marjorie?"
"What else would explain the 'Jazzy'?" Tristan asked.
"Lemme see that list again."
Eleven
By ten that night, I had broken my rule about no coffee after noon. Dad, Archie, Kwan, George, one of the FBI guys and I were all sitting at the table. We had managed to cross off most of the names on the list. Family members were the first to go. Most of them hadn't seen Mom and Dad since the whole drama began anyway.
By midnight we had come up with a short list. It was a distressing process. The short list had some of my parents' oldest and dearest friends on it. We were all exhausted when Archie and the FBI agent went to catch a little rest before they started quietly investigating. Meanwhile, we all waited for the call that would take us to the next step. When were we going to find out what the kidnappers wanted?
Dad leadenly crawled up the stairs when we decided there wasn't going to be a call that night. Kwan and George went down stairs to snooze while Hoc, the third bodyguard took up a watch on the steps. Tristan didn't really think we were going to see any trouble, but wasn't taking any chances.
"Let's get some sleep, too," I told him as I took his hand and led him up the stairs. "It's only a few hours until sunrise. You have to be as exhausted as I am."
"Someone needs to take the call."
"Tristan, I have Mom's cell, Dad's cell and you have yours. We'll put them all on the nightstand." Even though he looked like he wanted to argue with me, I could see the glaze of fatigue all over his face. I led him to my old room and opened the door.
It was pretty much the way I'd left it when I went off to college. Mercifully, I had gotten rid of the most embarrassing reminders of my teenage years, but the room still reeked of youthful innocence. Tristan grinned with delight when he took a look around.
I was never much for stuffed animals, but I loved my American Girl collection. The dolls still occupied an entire shelf above my dresser. On top of the dresser was my jewelry box. Tristan opened the white wooden lid and up popped the ballerina who still danced to the Nutcracker Suite. He fingered a couple of the trinkets inside--a heart shaped rainbow colored pendant, a broken silver bracelet, a key ring with a monkey hanging from it.