Sinners and Saints

Sinners and Saints Chapter 48 - Dancing Queen

“I will translate them into English for you, of course,” David continues, “So you can read them.  But your response is likely the only thing that will turn them off permanently and what I’m really looking for.” 

“How long will that take?” I ask, “I really have to get back to Heaven.” 

He arches a brow, but doesn’t say anything as he starts scanning each line with his finger.  A slight blue glow makes the paper nearly-translucent. 

“Done,” he tells me two minutes later, “Meet me in Chicago with your response in two weeks.”  He hands me his tour schedule with an address on the back. 

“Thank you, David,” I shove everything back in my purse, “I really do appreciate it.  Two weeks – I can do that.” 

“My pleasure, car – Claire,” he catches himself, “I see now why you’re not willing to massage my wings any longer,” he ruffles them slightly.  They are still pretty beaten-up. 

“I’m sorry,” I reach up and peck his cheek, “Hot shower?” 

“They curl.” 

“Bath?” 

“They get water-logged.” 

“Exercise?” 

“The sweat makes them twist up more,” he sighs, “The only thing that ever helped was angel-dust and lots of sex, but the seventies are gone,” he chuckles. 

“I’ll see you in Chicago,” I tell him, not knowing how to respond to that. 

“Looking forward to it,” he kisses my hand in a surprisingly gentleman-like move, “And if it all doesn’t work out, I would happily be your second, caraid.” 

I have no idea what just happened as I ride the elevator back down.  Clark warned me that David was about sex only – and I’m fine with that.  But David just sent off signals that indicated he wanted more.  

More what? 

I can’t lie – that angel’s voice does things to me that I’d really rather it didn’t do.  But – beyond that – I really don’t think he and I don’t have a lot in common.  He’s focused on show-business.  I’m focused on getting Drake back and finishing out my last assignment un-locked. 

And then becoming a mother. 

Don’t think that meshes up with world-tours and album-releases very well. 

When the doors open on the ground floor, I see Bishop sitting in the lobby, drumming his fingers against the arm of the sofa. 

He stands without a word, but offers me his arm anyway and leads me out the door. 

“We’re parked a few blocks down,” he says stiffly, “Would you rather I pull the car around for you?” 

“No – that will probably take more time than just walking there,” I tell him. 

“Did you get what you needed?” he asks me. 

“Not really,” I say and tug his arm a little harder as my boot slides on a patch of ice, “Sorry.” 

“Shorten your steps and watch where you walk,” he tells me, “Why not?” 

“David wants my response to the letters so he can turn it all into a song,” I tell him, “He translated them into English and gave me two weeks to give him my answer.”