Chapter Text
The master bedroom faced south, diluting the soft rays of the morning sun. It was 8am and the storm had lifted, The snow plows were out, clearing the DC streets. At 9am, Dembe knocked. He had a suit for Red. Red got up and let him in and said in a low voice, "Lizzy is here." They moved their conversation to the kitchenette. Liz sat up in the bed, noticing the room's decor, Art Nouveau, framed Mucha posters on the wall. It was warm and comforting, yet edgy and sensual. She liked it.
She wrapped her robe around herself, stopped by the bathroom, then padded her way to the living room. She had not noticed the fine oriental carpet on the living room floor or the breakfast nook, off-set from the kitchenette, with light streaming in. "Good morning, Dembe," she said. "Good morning, Agent Keen." "'Liz' is fine. Or 'Lizzy'" "Good morning, Miss Liz. I've been told you saved Raymond's life yesterday." "Yes, she did, indeed," said Red. Dembe got down on one knee in front of her, took her right hand and kissed it. "There is no way to thank you, Miss Lizzy." "I was only doing my job."
"That is not exactly true," said Red. "She came looking for me. I told her to leave with a young boy who had been abducted. In fact, I thought she had left, that for once, she had followed my directions. But she came back, at her own risk, and appeared just as Yaabari was about to execute me. She went above and beyond the call of duty." "But not, it seems, beyond the call of love?" Dembe ventured. He had a penchant for declaring the obvious. Liz blushed and Red smiled and winked at her.
Dembe rose to his feet, "Yaabari was not only a bounty hunter of high value hostages," Dembe went on. "He also abducted and sold young boys into the sex trade, through the Eberhardt cartel. I was one of those boys. When Raymond found me, I was in rebellion against this treatment, chained to a stovepipe in the basement of a whorehouse because I refused to cooperate."
"Well," said Red, "we are all here, safe and sound. I feel like doing something decadent. Dembe, There's a stand in the hotel's lower level shopping mall selling the most delicious Belgian waffles. Why don't you go down and get three for us?" "Of course, Raymond."
"Well, Lizzy," said Red, "How do you like the suite?" "It's lovely. I was admiring the prints in the master bedroom. The Four Seasons, perhaps." "Yes," said Red, "'The Four Seasons' by Alphonse Mucha, a Czechoslovakian artist who worked in the early 20th century and, did you notice, the room is painted in the same color as the background color of the prints?"
"The prints in the living room are Gauguin, posters from an exhibition here at the National Gallery," said Red, "I love his use of bright planes of primary color, seems to portend the color-obsession of the Internet." "Yes," said Liz. "Umm, I like how he shows nude breasts to be, well-, what they are – natural."
"But, Lizzy," said Red, "What do you think?" "About what?" "About the suite, the apartment" "I love it. I wish I could stay here longer with you." "Lizzy, it's yours." "What do you mean?" "This is the top floor suite of The Audrey Hotel, the apartment I bought for you." Liz looked around, stunned. "My goodness," she said, lamely.
"Will you take it, Lizzy?"
"I guess maybe I will," she said, smiling at him.
"I love you, Lizzy, sweetheart. Welcome home."
Fin.
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