Gargantuan A Ruby Murphy Mystery

The Jockey I open my eyes and am startled to find a body next to mine in bed. I sit up and protectively pull the blankets all the way to my chin before realizing that the body is Attila Johnson's and that I've invited it to be here. My heart rate returns to normal as I glance down at Attila's form. His pale hair is glowing in the darkness and he seems painfully innocent in sleep even though, when awake, there is too much life in his face. I look over at the clock. It's four in the morning. I get up as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb his sleep. Before meeting me three weeks ago, I don't think the man ever slept. Or ate. Right now he weighs a hundred and fourteen pounds, one pound less than I do. To him, of course, this is overweight. He's supposed to keep his weight under one-ten. This alone is an act of heroism, never mind the rest of his life that is devoted to rendering his body a light and muscular instrument meant to steer a thousand pounds of thoroughbred around a racetrack at thirty-five miles per hour. Which is a thing Attila does purely out of love. He got into riding too late to ever hope to be in the big leagues or do much more than work his tail off just to pay the rent. But the man loves and understands horses. This is part of why he's so compelling to me and why he's here, sleeping next to me when I still have unfinished business with another man, Ed, who up and left town just when I'd gotten to really liking the fact that he was around. I put my robe on and walk into the living room, pulling the bedroom door shut behind me. Stinky, my large Buddha-like cat, looks at me from his post on the couch and, when I tell him aloud I'm not going to give him a snack, puts his head back down on his paws and sighs deeply. Lulu, Stinky's calico companion, is nowhere to be found and is presumably holed up in a shoe box somewhere, dreaming of murdering birds. I go stand at the window. The snow has stopped for a breathing spell but the wind is howling its song along Stillwell Avenue, echoing through the snow-covered rides of Coney Island, the place I call home. Lulu suddenly materializes and jumps up on top of the piano, forcing me to look at the instrument that I haven't touched in days. Above the piano hangs a small Bach portrait. Johann Sebastian appears to be scowling disapprovingly at me and my wanton musical ways. I didn't take up piano until age thirty-one and I have to work very hard for even slight improvement. My goal is to be able to play at least some of Bach's Goldberg Variations before hitting forty. I have a little more than six years to go but it's not looking promising right now. Between my newfangled thing with Attila Johnson and the blizzard that hit town five days ago, my whole life has been suspended. I haven't practiced the piano or returned friends' phone calls. The Coney Island Museum has been closed so I haven't gone to work. I haven't done much of anything other than lie around naked with Attila and I'm starting to get restless. I find myself seized with a need to talk to someone other than Attila or myself. I open the front door and look across the hall to see if Ramirez is home and awake. My neighbor's door is open and he is in his customary position at the kitchen table, staring ahead, apparently doing nothing at all. He is wearing his outfit of choice: soiled white undershirt and faded pants. His arms are big but middle age is starting to slacken the muscle tone. His broad face is heavily lined, giving him a gruff look that's offset by large, kind eyes. "Ruby," he states. "Ramirez, what's up?" "You want some tea?" he asks, as if visiting each other at four o'clock in the morning is the most natural thing in the world. "Sure," I say, still standing in my doorway, suddenly hesitant about imposing on my neighbor. "You can keep sEstep, Maggie is the author of 'Gargantuan A Ruby Murphy Mystery', published 2004 under ISBN 9780609610336 and ISBN 0609610333.