Manhattan Lullaby Read Online Free Page B

there!” She heard the tap go on and then the shower. “Bradley!”
    Suddenly the door flew open. Bradley stood there with a towel knotted tightly around his waist. In his right hand he was holding a large blue bottle. “Would it be asking too much for me to find a bottle of Prell, or maybe some Fabergé Organics, or even one of those generically branded shampoos, anything, anything but Snow-Coat?”
    â€œI told you I bought the company. I—” But before she could finish, he slammed the door again and locked it.
    â€œI use it!” She shouted against the sound of the running water.
    â€œMountain Hartz!” shrieked Chester as he glided down the hallway and landed near her feet.
    Half an hour later Janie was lying on the far right side of the big double bed and Bradley was clinging to the left edge. The lights were out, the window was open and the silence was oppressive, broken only infrequently by the rustle of feathers from Chester’s perch near the door.
    After a few more minutes of this Bradley felt a warm foot insinuating itself next to his and then a hand snuggling up beside his neck.
    â€œI’m sorry,” they said in unison and then, “It was my fault.”
    They both laughed softly in the darkness. Janie moved closer and started to stroke Bradley’s neck and then his face.
    â€œHmm, that feels nice,” he murmured sleepily.
    She kept on stroking his face, pressing herself full-length against him.
    â€œHmm …”
    Her hand dipped around behind his right ear and she gently scratched the line of his hair.
    â€œI’m a human, not hound,” whispered Bradley.
    â€œSorry,” she whispered back, and her hand traveled lower.
    Silently Bradley cursed himself for complaining. She was getting into very still waters.
    Gradually Janie infiltrated her hand down under the waistband of his pajama bottoms, stroking the smooth skin of his belly and then the more heavily pelted area of his upper thighs. In the dark, Bradley stifled a yawn. Her hand moved ever lower, her fingers searching and exploring, intent on reaching their goal. He felt like his moment of truth was just a couple of inches away. And then out of the night came the call that saved him.
    â€œHartz Mountain,” muttered Chester under his wing. “Hartz Mountain.”
    Janie sat bolt upright, the heel of her palm digging into Bradley’s crotch. “Did you hear that? He said it. I heard him. He said ‘Hartz Mountain’ as clear as anything.” She flung back the covers and jumped out of bed. She switched on the light and ran over to the bird. “Good boy, Chester. Good boy!” she said, stroking his viri-descent head.
    â€œGood boy,” said Bradley, and then under his breath, “Thank you.”

Chapter Three
    Solly S. Berman, M.D., lived on the Upper West Side in a tall, narrow townhouse that breathed elegance from every one of its long, narrow windows. Like its occupant, the building was old, but old in the manner of fine antiques—it had the worn, lived-in look that only comes from years of loving use by the same owner.
    It was a plush house in a plush neighborhood, a circumstance that afforded Dr. Berman an equally plush clientele. And as his practice was primarily devoted to treating the urban wealthy, his work focused for the most part on maladies resulting directly from that status, afflictions that owed their existence to an overindulgence in a variety of substances and underindulgence in almost any activity not required to administer them. And since Solly Berman was very good at correcting and controlling the side effects of urban wealth, he had become over the years a very wealthy man himself. In fact, if there had been a Fortune 500 for doctors, his name would certainly have appeared high up on the list.
    Needless to say, Maxine was more than a little impressed when she stepped out of the taxi in front of 133 West 73rd Street. You might