“We used to go to the Greenbriar. Or SAE conventions.”
“Frank DiCilia did?”
“The other Frank, the first one. The second one, I couldn’t get him out of Florida.”
“Except go to Detroit now and then,” Maguire said, “if I recall you saying.”
“Eastern nine-five-two, Miami to Detroit, the dinner flight. Nine-five-three back again.”
“Well, what do you sit around in that big house for, if you’ve got the urge and you can go anywhere you want?”
“Right,” Karen said. “It’s dumb, isn’t it?”
“You want to have dinner with me tonight?” Maguire said. “Anywhere you want. I just came into some money.”
Three times Roland dropped the wrought-iron knocker against the front door. When Marta appeared, he pushed the door all the way open and walked in past her.
“Missus isn’t here.”
Roland walked through the sitting room to the French doors and looked out on the patio.
“Where she at?”
“Missus isn’t here.”
Roland came back to the front hall and crossed to look into the living room, narrowing his eyes at the size of it-the white plaster walls and beamed cathedral ceiling-as if to make the room smaller and spot her hiding someplace.
“Where is she?”
As he moved toward the stairway, Marta said, “Let me see, please, if she is upstairs.”
Roland said, “You stay here, honey. You call anybody on the phone I’ll know about it, won’t I?” He reached down as Gretchen came running across the polished floor to him. “Hey, Gretchie, how you doin’ huh? How you doin’, girl? You gettin’ much?”
Karen was thinking, Thirty-eight from seventy-nine… forty-one.
Lying on the king-size bed in her robe, on top of the spread, ankles crossed, resting before her bath.
She would have been a war baby instead of a Depression baby. Forty-one and seventeen… fifty-eight. Graduated from high school in ’58. From Michigan in ’62. It wasn’t going to work. Unless she was married to Frank-thinking of the first Frank-say, eleven years. That would make Julie-married, living in L.A.-about fifteen.
So don’t mention Julie. Except what if he says-
She had already told him.
The other night, listing the two Franks, yes, and a daughter-my daughter the actress. Shit. She had already mentioned Julie.
All right. She could have been married at Ann Arbor, still in school. Say, freshman year. If Julie was born in ’60, she’d be nineteen now.
Better stay away from it. Change the subject if he brings up Julie.
Somebody was coming upstairs. Marta?
Avoid talking about age or tell him the truth. What difference did it make? She wasn’t even sure why she was going out with him. She liked him; he was different; relaxed, low-key but very aware. She liked him-it was strange-quite a lot. Right from the beginning. But how did you make room for someone like Maguire? How did you explain him? Walking into the Palm Bay Club-
“Hey, look-it her waiting for me!”
Roland was in the room. She saw his hat, the color of his suit. She saw him coming, arms raised, diving at her! Karen screamed. She rolled, reaching for the edge of the bed, and Roland landed next to her with the sound of the frame cracking, ripping away from the oak headboard, collapsing, the king-size boxspring and mattress dropping abruptly within the frame, to the floor.
Roland, on his elbows, close to her, hat low over his eyes, grinned at her.
“How you doin’?”
Karen screamed. “Marta!”
She tried to roll off the edge, but he caught her and held her to the bed beneath one arm across her stomach.
“Take off my hat for me.”
“Get out of here!” And screamed again, “Marta!”
“I told her we wouldn’t need anything.”
Roland took his hat by the brim and sailed it away from the bed. His arm came down again to grab her as she tried to twist away, free herself, and now he lowered his face to her, nuzzling it against her neck, working aside the collar of the robe. “I ain’t gonna hurt you. This hurt?” His voice softly muffled. “Feels kinda good, don’t it.” His face moving lower as he pulled her toward him to lie on her back, his face nuzzling into the robe.
Karen held herself rigid, staring at the ceiling, feeling his mouth on her, his face moving side to side, opening her robe. She could hear Gretchen in the room, license and ID tags jingling on her collar.
“We don’t have nothing on under there, do we? Mmmmmm, you sure smell nice.” He looked up then, turning his cheek to her. “Here, smell mine. Called Manpower. Little girl in the store said, ‘For the man who knows what he wants.’ You like it?”
Karen turned her face away, the perfumed astringent scent almost making her gag. Thinking, Don’t move. Don’t fight. Breathe. His face moved lower, and she was staring at the ceiling again, feeling his mouth, feeling her heart beating beneath his mouth.
“Don’t that feel goooood? Yeaaaah, feels good have somebody holding you again, don’t it? Been a long, long time.” His mouth moving over her, voice drowsy, soft.
Thinking, Six months. Seven months. Thinking, There’s nothing you can do. Close your eyes. It could be-his mouth moving-it could be anyone. It could be someone else. But her eyes remained open.
Anyone else, for God’s sake. But it wasn’t going to be this one!
Karen rolled into him, jabbed against him as hard as she could and abruptly rolled the other way, reached the edge of the bed with her knee and one hand before he caught her again and she could feel the bulk of him, his weight, against her back.
“Where you goin’, sugar?”
“I’m getting up.”
“What for? You got to make we-we?”
“I’m going to call Ed Grossi.”
“Hey, shit, you don’t want to bother Ed. This here’s between you and me. You feel it?” He pushed against her. “That’s what’s between us, if you wondered I had something in my pocket. You want me to tell you what it is?”
Karen didn’t answer.
“It’s my Louisville Slugger.”
“You know I’m going to tell Ed,” Karen said, seeing Gretchen now, white whiskers and sad eyes looking up at her, only a few feet away. “You must be out of your mind.”
“With love,” Roland said. “Listen, come on. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”
“I saw Ed today.”
“You had a nice lunch, did you?”
Karen hesitated. How would he know that? She almost asked him; but it had nothing to do with right now, with Roland pressing against her.
She said, “I think you’d better talk to Ed as soon as you can. You’re going to be in a lot of trouble.”
“I don’t mind trouble. Shit, I like a little trouble. Keeps you thinking.”
She wanted to jab her elbow into him as hard as she could, but she held on, keeping an even tone as she said, “Talk to him. He’s agreed, I’m not going to be watched any more. The whole arrangement-it’s over with.”
Roland lay heavily against her, silent for a moment. “No shit, Ed’s calling it off?”
“Talk to him, will you please?”
“You cry on his shoulder or kick him in the nuts? Either way, I believe, might work.”
“Call him. The phone’s right behind you.”
There was a silence again.
“But did he check with Frank? What’s Frank say about it?”
“Let me up, all right?”
Roland took his time. As he rolled away from her, Karen was off the bed, pulling her robe together, moving across the room.
“Hold it there, sweet potato. Don’t go running off. I want to tell you something.”
“And I want you to leave. Right now.”
Roland got up slowly. “Messed up your bed, didn’t I?”
“Don’t worry about the bed. Just leave.”
“I can probably fix it for you.”
“Please, I’m asking you-”
Roland picked up his hat. He walked over to the wall of mirrors that enclosed Karen’s closet. “See, what Ed says, like half the time don’t mean diddly-shit. Ed’s getting old, little guinea brain becoming shriveled up from all that red wine.”
“Please. Talk to him yourself, all right?”