He handed me an envelope and I thumbed through the ten crisp hundred-dollar bills inside it.

“One more thing,” I said. “What do you expect for this?”

He looked puzzled. “Sex.”

“What kind of sex? Do you want straight sex or head? Anything kinky?”

“I thought you said you’d do anything I wanted and would stay the night for a thou.”

He was starting to look worried.

“That’s right. And you understand there’s no rough stuff.”

“That’s not my style. Now, have we got the business out of the way?”

“Unfortunately, no,” I said, flashing my badge. I could hear the trunk of the Ford open as my partner, Jack Gripper, got out. “I’m a policewoman, Mr. Emery, and you’re under arrest for prostitution.”

What a waste, I remember thinking. I meet the guy of my dreams, who lives in the house of my dreams, and instead of balling him, I bust him. Life can sure be cruel. Then, he phoned.

“Officer Esteban?” he asked, sounding just as pleasant as he’d been during the ride to the station house.

“Yes.”

“This is Dan Emery. You arrested me for prostitution three weeks ago.”

“Oh, yes. I remember.”

“I didn’t bother getting a lawyer. You had me dead to rights. I just faced the music and pled guilty about twenty minutes ago.”

“Good for you. I hope the judge wasn’t too tough.”

“The fine wasn’t much, but the process was pretty humiliating.”

“Hopefully, it won’t happen again.”

“That’s for sure. So, the reason I called. Actually, I wanted to call you before, but I thought I should wait until my case was over. Otherwise, I was afraid it would sound like a bribe.”

“What would?”

“My dinner invitation.”

Five years as a cop had taught me how to stay cool in the tensest situations but I was completely flummoxed.

“I don’t know…” I started.

“Look, you’re probably thinking I’m some kind of weirdo, what with answering that kinky ad and all. But, really, I’m not like that. I did it as a lark. Honest. I haven’t been with a prostitute since college and I’ve never had a call girl. I don’t even subscribe to that paper. I picked it up at my barber while I was waiting for a haircut. It just seemed like fun. Really, I’m very embarrassed about the whole thing. And I have been punished. You have no idea what it’s like for a guy to admit he had to pay for sex in a courtroom packed with giggling people.”

I laughed.

“Good,” he said, “I’ve got you laughing. Now, if I can just get you to go out with me I’ll be batting a thousand. What do you say?”

I said yes of course, and dinner was everything I’d hoped it would be even if the restaurant was elegant enough to make me feel a little uncomfortable and I didn’t recognize half the dishes on the menu. Dan turned out to be a perfect gentleman with a sense of humor and none of that macho bullshit that I’m used to from the cops I’ve dated. The only thing that bothered me that first night—and I say bothered, only because I needed a word here, not because I really gave it any thought then—was his reluctance to talk about himself. He was an artist at steering the conversation back to me whenever I’d try to find out a little about him. But I was so used to guys who only wanted to talk about themselves that it was actually a bit of a relief.

I didn’t sleep with Dan after our first date or our second. I didn’t want him thinking I was an easy lay. The third time we dated he invited me to his house instead of going to a restaurant and he cooked a dinner to die for. We ate on the flagstone patio. The air felt like silk, the view was spectacular and not having sex with him seemed downright silly.

The next two months were like a fairy tale. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other and I missed him every minute we were apart. Sergeant Groves couldn’t figure out why I was being so nice to him. He knew how upset I’d been when he took me out of narcotics and put me into the call-girl sting operation. I’d yelled sex discrimination and he asked me who else he could use as a call girl. The whole thing was supposed to be temporary, anyway.

During those two intense months I learned a little bit more about Dan, and everything I learned made me like him more. Dan was an orphan, whose parents had died in a car crash on vacation in the south of France during his sophomore year at USC. He’d been living in an apartment on his own and continued to stay there until he graduated, even though he’d inherited the house on Pine Terrace. Dan told me that he’d been very close to his parents and the house contained too many memories. It had taken a while before he could stay there without being overcome with sadness.

The family lawyer had provided Dan with advice and an allowance until he turned twenty-one and was allowed to control his inheritance. Even though he was rich enough so he didn’t have to work, he was employed as a stockbroker at a small, exclusive brokerage house run by an old college friend. At one point, he confided that he was doing well enough at work to keep up his lifestyle without having to tap into his inheritance.

I didn’t go out of my way to tell anyone about Dan but it’s hard to keep secrets from your partner.

“The john?” Jack Gripper said, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Yeah,” I answered sheepishly.

“It’s the house, isn’t it?”

We’d passed the house once on the way to interview a witness and I’d told Jack how I’d been in it as a kid and how it was my dream house. After arresting Dan, he’d asked me if the house was the one I’d told him about and I’d said it was.

“Geez, Jack, why don’t you just come right out and call me a gold digger?”

“Hey, I’m not casting any stones.”

Gripper really is nonjudgmental. I guess that comes from being a cop for so many years and seeing as much of life as he has. After our brief discussion about Dan and me, he never brought up the subject again, and I didn’t, either.

We were in bed when Dan first told me he loved me. I hadn’t pushed it. Just being with Dan was enough. I’ve always kept my expectations low. Like I said, I’d grown up poor and I’d fought for everything I had. My apartment was the nicest place I’d ever lived in. Most of the guys I’d dated hadn’t lived much better. I was starting to build a nest egg, but I could have done what I was doing for the rest of my life and never put away enough to live like Dan.

I don’t want you to think his money was everything, but money is always important if you grow up without it. I want to think I was in love, but I’m not sure I know what love is. I never saw it in my mother’s relationship with the occasional man she brought home. Working the streets, I’ve seen enough women with split lips and enough men with stab wounds to know that love isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. I’ve never seen shooting stars or heard bells ring with anyone I dated. Not even with Dan. But, he did feel comfortable and he was sure good in the sack and I guess I felt as close to him as I’ve ever felt to anyone.

When he said, “There’s something we have to talk about,” my first thought was he was going to call it off.

“So talk,” I said, trying to make it sound like a joke.

The full moon hanging over the ocean made seeing in the dark easy enough. Dan rolled over on his side. He looked troubled.

“We’ve been together, what? Two months?”

“Sixty-one days, twenty hours, three minutes and one arrest,” I answered, still trying to keep things light. “But who’s counting.”

Dan smiled, but it was only for a second. Then he looked sad.

“My little flatfoot.” He sighed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I love you, but I don’t know if I can trust you.”

That got my attention and I sat up.

“What do you mean, you can’t trust me?” I snapped, hurt and a little angry.

“How much of a cop are you, Monica? And how much do I mean to you?”

I thought about that. More the second part of the question, than the first. He’d just told me he loved me. What was he leading up to? I thought about living here, driving the Rolls, wearing clothes like the clothes I saw on movie stars.