She was late to the party, dammit, and so along that isolated stretch between Hither Hills and Napeague she floored it. The little Audi TT leapt ahead and she felt the pleasurable sensation in her lower back of being pressed firmly against the leather seat; like the emptying sensation of coming close to an orgasm. No cars ahead, no cars behind - it was still early enough in June that there was little traffic. She could smell the sweet salt air and scent of beach plums speeding by; she could take in the red swell of the evening's setting sun over the hills and dunes to the west.
She took a quick look in the mirror - eyes looked good, nicely made up; bright red lipstick to contrast with her little black dress. She knew it was a cliché, that little black dress, but God, it was a Brandon Maxwell strapless velvet dress, easily $4,000 at Bergdorf's, a gift of her late husband only weeks before his unfortunate skydiving death. She shuddered. She smiled. He had gone so quickly, and at perhaps just the right time in their relationship - built up a fortune, daughter in college, and she, 40-something, ready for something new. She knew he'd had various affairs, which made his death a little easier to bear - as had the substantial life insurance policy he'd left for her. New things! She'd cut her blonde hair short, page-boy style; she'd taken up kiteboarding on a vacation to Aruba in March; she'd started hot power yoga at the steamy studio near the apartment.
And she'd found a part-time summer job managing an antique store in Montauk just down the street from her summer rental cottage.. She didn't really have to work, but she was allowing herself the small pleasure of engaging in researching Grueby, Rookwood, and Weller pottery; and seeing the early summer trickle of rich New Yorkers browsing in her store and spending thousands gave her a thrill. She loved to charm them. In her short printed dresses, her pinned-back hair, her thongy sandals, she would flash her famous smile at them and engage in polite, meaningless conversation. And the summer had just begun! There was so much more ahead!
The cool/warm air slipstreaming in the open sunroof was thrilling. There was still the hint of spring and yet the heat of summer was beginning to pulse.. Her bare arms were tickled and goosebumps rose under the fine blonde hair of her forearms. She was already tanned from lying out on her deck and walking along the beach, loving the pounding surf.
"Oh shit," she said, spotting the parked police cruiser behind the big white "LOBSTERS" sign. She braked gently, trying to pretend that she was naturally slowing down instead of letting on that she was panic-braking at the sight of the cop car. She flew by their hiding place and for a second she thought she was in the clear - she'd been doing 70 in a 45 MPH zone - as she saw no movement behind her in the rear view. Then she saw headlights coming on, a red and blue flasher lighting up, and the police car lurched onto the road behind her.
She drove the speed limit as the cruiser quickly came up on her tail and flashed its headlights at her. "Damn," she thought. She looked for a place to pull over and after a couple hundred yards there was a circular dirt driveway next to a closed-up farm stand and so she slowed, signaled, and pulled in next to the empty wagon that would be overflowing with produce in a couple of weeks but now seemed abandoned. She started breathing deeply into her belly, feeling her muscles press out against the expensive material of her dress. She had goosebumps on her thighs as well. At least she hadn't been drinking, she thought; and the one zanax she'd taken earlier wouldn't register on a breath test anyway. She reached for her lipstick and did a quick touch up.
The cruiser pulled in behind her and two men stepped out, their hands on their sidearms. The one on the passenger side held a flashlight, even though it was still not quite sundown. He stayed just behind and to the right of her car as the other officer came up to her window and faced her.
"I'm so sorry, officer," she began. "I just -"
"License and registration please," he intoned. As she reached into her handbag for her license, and rummaged in the glove compartment for the registration, she heard him say "Do you know you were going 30 miles over the speed limit back there?"
"I'm so sorry, I didn't realize, I was in a hurry and just lost track of the speed and time, I'll never do it again," she said, handing him the papers and her license. Tears sprang suddenly into her eyes, unexpected. She wasn't going to try to manipulate the police officers; she just felt unintentionally emotional. She wiped her eyes.
"Settle down, ma'am," said the officer. "Sit tight," he said, and walked back to the cruiser. She watched him in her rear view mirror: his dark blue pants outlined an ass that, she thought, clearly had been toned through power yoga ... or perhaps surfing, she thought; he wore a dark blue short sleeve shirt and his biceps bulged as well. His sunglasses were propped up on his head of sun-bleached blond hair. She imagined him working out, surfing, running; she imagined him with no shirt in one of her hot yoga classes, sweating freely and dripping on his mat - maybe he'd turn his head and grin at her in downward dog, and she'd admire his washboard abs.
Where did that train of thought come from? She wondered. The officer was back in the cruiser, checking her information against that little laptop they carried nowadays. The other officer still stood behind and to the right. He walked up closer to her passenger window and bent over, placed his hands on the door and bent over and said, "Well, hello there. You had this baby really flying back there, didn't you?"
He was a similarly built officer, except he was black, one of the few who had made it out to the east end of Long Island during the past century and stayed, in little enclaves. He had short cropped hair and his mirrored sunglasses were still on, so she couldn't see his eyes.
"These little Audis are sweet, aren't they?" He said, glancing at her, the empty passenger seat, and back at her.
"Yes, I guess. My husband bought it for me. Late husband, I mean."
"Oh, sorry for your loss." He smiled in at her, bright white teeth, an aquiline nose, and high cheekbones. Again she started wondering, what would he look like in a hot yoga class? She noticed him looking at her thighs and she shifted slightly so that her dress rode up a little. What am I doing? She asked herself. The officer's shirt was open at he collar, and she could see the line of a thick collarbone beginning at the hollow of his neck.
"What happens now?" She asked, in a small voice.
"What do you mean?" The officer smiled.
"I mean ... " What do I mean? She thought. She thought about these two attractive young policemen, how they had pulled her over for speeding, and all of the tactics available to women in the romance novels she'd read for manipulating a cop, for manipulating any man, really, and how those tactics had never crossed her mind. Never. She'd always been a good girl, in high school, college, and even in marriage. Certainly, she'd let a little ignorance into her life, exchanging a wealthy lifestyle for the knowledge that her husband was less than perfect. She'd thought that was to be expected. She was from Madison, Wisconsin, and he had been a born and bred New Yorker.
