‘For Christ’s sake,’ said Frank. She limped into the room and immediately sat down on the couch. He saw that she was wearing no shoes, and that her left foot was bleeding. He closed the door and sat down beside her, trying to take hold of her hands. ‘For Christ’s sake, Astrid, what the hell’s happened?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I got into some trouble, is all.’
‘Trouble? What kind of trouble? Look at you – you look like you just went the full distance with Mike Tyson!’
‘It doesn’t matter. Could I have a drink, please?’
He went through to the kitchen and brought her back a glass of Diet Coke.
‘A drink, Frank. A proper drink.’
‘You think you ought to? Look at the state of you.’
‘Frank, you’re not my mother.’
He poured her a Jack Daniel’s, straight up. She tipped it back in one, coughed, and held out her glass for another.
‘So . . . are you going to tell me what happened? I thought we were going to Rancho Santa Fe.’
‘I’m sorry about that, Frank. I had to go see somebody.’
‘And that somebody beat up on you? Are you going to tell me who it was?’
She took another swallow of whiskey. ‘I told you, it doesn’t matter. I deserved it.’
‘Look,’ he said, sitting down beside her again, ‘I don’t have any right to stick my nose in your private business, but you and I are a little more than friends, aren’t we? And when you come back here all covered in bruises, I think I deserve an explanation.’
‘I’m sorry about Rancho Santa Fe. I should have called you.’
‘What happened? Where did you go?’
She looked at him and he thought that he had never seen anybody looking so sad. ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated.
They sat for a long time in silence. Astrid sipped her whiskey and kept her eyes on the television, even though the sound was turned down. Frank kept his eyes on Astrid. A television reporter was standing amongst the shattered remains of Happy, Sneezy, Sleepy and Bashful. The caption read ‘Disney Death Toll Reaches 113.’
Fifteen
He pulled open the shower door without warning. Astrid tried to cover herself, but it was no use. She couldn’t hide the bruises on her shoulders and her thighs, or the bite-marks on her breasts. She stood there with water coursing down her face, half ashamed and half defiant.
Frank took a long, long look at her, and then he closed the door. He was sitting on the end of the bed waiting for her when she came out of the shower, wrapped in a thick white hotel robe.
‘I don’t know what to think about this,’ Frank told her, and he didn’t.
Astrid stood in front of the mirror and toweled her hair. ‘What you don’t know can’t hurt you, can it?’
‘That’s bullshit. Anything that hurts you hurts me.’
‘Frank, we’ve spent two nights together. It’s not as if we’re married.’
‘Danny said that you were my future. Don’t you think that counts for something? It does to me.’
‘For God’s sake, Frank, Danny didn’t tell you anything. It was Nevile Strange and Nevile Strange is a fake.’
‘Well, I don’t agree. I heard what I heard and I saw what I saw. And if you’re not my future, why do you keep calling me and coming around to see me and sharing my bed?’
Astrid came up to him and gently tilted his chin up so that they were looking at each other eye to eye. ‘I thought you needed somebody. Somebody who understood how much you’re hurting. I also thought that you needed to forget about Danny for a few hours, and think about yourself.’
‘Right now I’m thinking about you. I don’t see how we can sustain any kind of relationship unless I know who you are.’
Astrid smiled and kissed him on the forehead. ‘I’m just me, Frank. I’m not worth losing any sleep over.’
‘I need to know who hurt you. I also need to know why they hurt you.’
She kissed him again. She smelled of summers gone by. ‘No, you don’t.’
They both drank too much Jack Daniel’s that evening, and when they went to bed they fell asleep almost at once. But Frank was woken in the middle of the night by Astrid tugging his penis. He mumbled, ‘No,’ but she pressed her hand over his mouth, and continued to rub him, harder and harder. When he grew stiff, she climbed on top of him and guided him inside her, gasping with pain.
‘Astrid!’ he cried, and tried to push her off him, but she gripped his wrists and held him flat on the bed.
As she approached orgasm, she began to sob and snuffle. Again he tried to roll over, but she screamed at him, ‘Don’t! Don’t!’ and she jumped up and down on him faster and faster until she finally went into spasm, her thighs gripping him tight, her perspiration dropping on his face and scalding his eyes.
Afterward she lay with her back to him, quivering, and when he touched her face with his fingertips her cheeks were wet with tears.
‘Astrid,’ he said, ‘you have to tell me who did this to you.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You have to. Whoever he is, he deserves to be in prison.’
‘I’m not worth it, Frank. I’ve never been worth it.’
He sat up and switched on the bedside light. ‘How can you say that? You’re beautiful.’
‘No, I’m not. I’m nothing.’
He didn’t know what to say to that. He was too tired and his head was banging and his mouth was all furred up. But he knew one thing for certain. He would find out who had beat up on Astrid, and he would make sure that the bastard got what he deserved, in spades.
The next morning Astrid slept until almost eleven o’clock. The red bruises on her cheekbones had already turned purple and her eyes were almost closed. The first thing Frank did was sit on the bed beside her and hold up his shaving mirror.
‘Oh, God,’ she said.
‘You’re still not going to tell me who did it?’
She shook her head.
‘All right. If you won’t tell me, you won’t tell me. That’s your privilege. What are you doing today? How about lunch at Captain Hooker’s, up the coast? Come on, you can always wear dark glasses.’
‘No, I’m busy today.’
‘How about this evening?’
‘This evening? Well . . . OK.’
‘I’ll see you round seven, then? That’s if you don’t change your mind and go off to get another beating.’
‘Frank . . .’
‘Yes, I know. Not funny. You’d think that I’d be able to come up with a really good gag about it, wouldn’t you, a professional humorist like me? “Does your boyfriend beat you up?” – pause – “No, I’m always out of bed first.”’
‘Frank . . .’
‘I care about you, Astrid, even if you don’t care about yourself. I can’t understand why you don’t want to tell me anything about yourself, but if that’s the way you want it, I’m prepared to accept it. I’d rather go on seeing you, even if you keep me in the dark. Even if you come back with bruises and bites and you won’t say who did them.’
Astrid kissed him. ‘You’re a rare man, Frank.’
No I’m not, he thought. I’m a liar.
He made two mugs of strong coffee and they drank it together in the living room. He didn’t really know what to say to her, because he felt so angry and jealous and he didn’t want her to know.
‘So, what are you doing today?’ he asked her, trying to sound offhand. ‘Anything interesting?’
‘Running a few errands, that’s all. Meeting some friends.’
‘Well . . . if you’re finished before seven, you can call me any time.’
She didn’t answer, but put down her half-empty coffee mug, stood up, and came over to kiss him. ‘I’ll see you this evening, OK?’