The men sat like a frozen tableau, gazing at the newcomer in stunned silence, glasses poised at lips. Jim blinked almost sleepily at them, unable to speak.
"Who the hell are you?" Leo demanded. He whipped around and yanked Brenda to him by the wrist. "You little…" He stopped abruptly.
"Finish it!" Jim burst out. "Go ahead. You little slut! That's what she is, obviously."
He raised a shaking hand and, wiped the sweat off his upper lip. "Don't worry, I'm not the fuzz," he said to Leo. "Since you're the only one dressed you must be the pimp. I can't arrest you so go ahead and beat her up if you want. That's what pimps do, isn't it?"
He turned to Brenda.
"I figured there was something wrong from your letters so I came to New York to find you and bring you back home. I thought…"
He faltered in spite of himself, and she saw his eyes fill with tears as his mouth twisted in an effort to hide its trembling.
"Boy, have I been taken… My fiancee!" he spat out turning on the men with balled fists. "She told me she was a virgin and I believed her, good old dumb me." His eyes raked her without quarter. "Some virgin! The only thing you've got left that's all in one piece is an eardrum."
His attempt at biting sarcasm failed abruptly as he emitted a hoarse sob. The men on the sofa shifted uncomfortably, moving for the first time as they glanced at one another.
His face wrinkled up like a new baby's. "Brenda… Brenda… how could you…"
She backed away sharply. "Don't call me that! I'm not Brenda! I'm Ginny! Do you hear me? All of you. My name is Ginny Walters and I've lived here for a long time. See that poster?" she cried, pointing to the wall. "That's me. I posed for that. You sniveling bastard!" she shouted at Jim. "I never knew you! I'm not your sweet, nice Brenda and now we both know it!"
Leo stepped back as though he had been struck and eyed her with naked fear. He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. Jim turned on his heel, his hand rising to wipe his eyes, and stumbled out.
The men started to dress quickly, draining drinks and stubbing out cigarettes after taking one last drag on them. They looked like people hurrying back to work after a coffee break.
Nick Eubanks spoke first as he tucked his shirt into his belt.
"Try it again, Leo baby, next time without a kook, huh?" He left, shrugging into his jacket. The others hurried by like commuters trying to get to the subway exit. The one who had bungholed her paused and gave her a whithering look of contempt.
"You littlecunt! A nice boy like that… I never felt like such a heel in my life."
When they were gone Leo turned slowly to her.
"You be out of here tomorrow, you understand? I want you gone from this place."
Her head trembled as she gazed at him with bright, feverish eyes.
"But I already left, months ago. Don't you remember? The trendy California girl, putting things in her mouth." Her laugh was coarse and lewd. "Cocks, cunts, you name it."
He stared at her as though to weigh her seriousness. Something in her face made him swallow heavily and look away.
"You're putting me on," he mumbled. "Come off that Ginny crap…" But his voice gave him away. Under his swarthy tan there was a greenish pallor of fear.
"Tomorrow!" he ground out. "Understand? I know plenty of cops in this neighborhood. I could get you on a lot of things, all, I have to do is plant the first little seed of suspicion and they'll do the rest. If that doesn't work, don't forget I have keys. I'll plant a little pot or some H in here instead of a seed."
He grabbed his jacket and walked out slamming the door behind him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Even the slamming doors sounded far away. She wandered about the empty apartment picking up empty glasses and looking at the melting ice, touching the dirty ashtrays. There was no need to clean it up if she were going to leave. Not tomorrow but tonight… tonight.
She packed a suitcase, carefully laying away the twisted lacy garments she took off. There was nothing she wanted to take with her, really, nothing that mattered except the poster. She had to have it. It was her self-portrait.
The tacks came off easily this time. She tossed them carelessly behind the sofa and rolled up the poster into a long tube, then snapped a rubber band around it. When she was ready she walked out, not bothering to close the door behind her.
As she stepped into the lobby she saw Harl enter the front door, a newspaper under his arm. He looked at her suitcase and frowned in puzzlement.
"Brenda? Where're you going?"
She smiled softly at him. "I'm not Brenda, I'm Ginny. Don't you know your own neighbors?"
He stared at her, his mouth working as his fingers gripped the newspaper.
"What?" he murmured.
"You heard me? I'm Ginny. I'm tired of people forgetting my name."
"Did you see this?" he said, holding the paper out to her. She sighed and tried to pass him but he blocked her way.
"Let me go!"
"Read this! Look at it."
His finger jabbed at a short article, barely more than a filler, at the bottom of a news column. Brenda blinked heavily and read the headline: BODY OF NY GIRL IDENTIFIED.
"The body of a twenty-two year old woman missing here since April 1 has been identified as being that of a Virginia Walters, a former New York City resident who was last seen in this area in the company of four men. Nebraska police have attempted without success to notify her next of kin. The body of Miss Walters was found in a hollow grave on a farm nearby."
Brenda looked up at Harl with blank, disinterested eyes.
"Well?"
"Don't you… don't you understand? It's Ginny. She's dead."
She eased past him. "Oh, Harl, don't be silly. Goodbye, I'm taking a groovy trip to California."
He turned to stare at her as she went out the heavy front door. She did not look back as she made her way down the crowded Village Street. It's a good thing she remembered to wear flat shoes, so her feet would not hurt, she thought. As she passed a policeman she gave him a stealthy glance, then lowered her eyes quickly to the pavement. She walked on, her footsteps tapping out the date: April 1… April 1.
It was the day she had taken the apartment.