“Is that what this is?” she asked, and pointed with the hammer at the scar on his shoulder.”
“Yes.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Think I’ll kiss it,” she said, and bent over from the waist and kissed his shoulder lightly, and then sat up again. “You’re dealing with the Mad Hammer Hitter here,” she said. “One more word about how good-looking I am and, pow, your friends’ll be investigating a homicide. You got that?”
“Got it,” Kling said.
“This is the obligatory sex scene,” she said. “I’m going to drive you to distraction in the next ten minutes. If you fail to respond, I’ll cleave your skull with a swift single blow. In fact,” she said, “a swift single blow might not be a bad way to start,” and she bent over swiftly, her tongue darting. “I think you’re beginning to get the message,” she murmured. “Must be the goddamn hammer.”
“Must be,” Kling whispered.
Abruptly, she brought her head up to the pillow, stretched her legs, and rolled in tight against him, the hammer still in her right hand. “Listen, you,” she whispered.
“I’m listening.”
“We’re going to be very important to each other.”
“I know that.”
“I’m scared to death,” she said, and caught her breath. “I’ve never felt this way about any man. Do you believe me, Bert?”
“Yes.”
“We’re going to make love now.”
“Yes, Augusta.”
“We’re going to make beautiful love.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, touch me,” she said, and the hammer slipped from her grasp.
The telephone rang four times while they were in bed together. Each time, Augusta’s answering service picked it up on the first ring.
“Might be someone important,” Kling whispered after the last call.
“No one’s more important than you,” she whispered back, and immediately got out of bed and went into the kitchen. When she returned, she was carrying a split of champagne.
“Ah, good,” he said. “How’d you know I was thirsty?”
“You open it while I think up a toast.”
“You forgot glasses.”
“Lovers don’t need glasses.”
“My grandmother does. Blind as a bat without them.”
“Is she a lover?”
“Just ask Grandpa.”
Kling popped the cork with his thumbs.
“Got that toast?” he asked.
“You’re getting the bed wet.”
“Come on, think of some people we can drink to.”
“How about John and Martha Mitchell?”
“Why not? Here’s to…”
“How about us?” Augusta said. She gently took the bottle from him, lilted it high, and said, “To Bert and Augusta. And to…” She hesitated.
“Yes?”
Solemnly, she studied his face, the bottle still extended. “And to at least the possibility of always,” she said, and quickly, almost shyly, brought the bottle to her lips, drank from the open top, and handed it back to Kling, he did not take his eyes from her face. Watching her steadily, he said, “To us. And to always,” and drank.
“Excuse me,” Augusta said, and started out of the room.
“Leaving already, huh?” Kling said. “After all that sweet talk about…”
“I’m only going to the bathroom,” Augusta said, and giggled.
“In that case, check the phone on the way back.”
“Why?”
“I’m a cop.”
“Hell with the phone,” Augusta said.
Let’s Hear It for the Deaf Man, 1973
“Yeah?” Carella said, surprised.
“Yeah,” Kling said, and nodded.
He was referring to Augusta Blair, a red-headed photographer’s model he had met nine months ago while investigating a burglary. Carella knew better than to make some wise-ass remark when Kling was apparently so serious. The squadroom banter about the frequent calls from “Gussie” (as Kling’s colleagues called her) had achieved almost monumental proportions in the past two months, but they hardly seemed appropriate in the one-to-one intimacy of an automobile whose windows, except for the windshield, were entirely covered with rime. Carella busied himself with the heater.
“What do you think?” Kling asked.
“Well, I don’t know. Do you think she’ll say yes?”
“Oh, yeah, I think she’ll say yes.”
“Well then, ask her.”
“Well,” Kling said, and fell silent.
They had come through the tollbooth. Behind them, Isola thrust its jagged peaks and minarets into a leaden sky. Ahead, the terrain consisted of rolling smoke-colored hills through which the road to Turman snaked its lazy way.
“The thing is,” Kling said at last, “I’m a little scared.”
“Of what?” Carella asked.
“Of getting married. I mean, it’s… well… it’s a very serious commitment, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” Carella said. He could not quite understand Kling’s hesitancy. If he really wanted to marry Gussie, why the doubts? And if there were doubts, then did he really want to marry her?
“What’s it like?” Kling asked,
“What’s what like?”
“Being married.”
“I can only tell you what it’s like being married to Teddy,” Carella said.
“Yeah, what’s it like?”
“It’s wonderful.”
“Mmm,” Kling said. “Because, suppose you get married and then you find out it isn’t the same as when you weren’t married?”
“What isn’t the same?”
“Everything.”
“Like what?”
“Like, well, for example, suppose, well, that, well, the sex isn’t the same?”
“Why should it be any different?”
“I don’t know,” Kling said, and shrugged.
“What’s the marriage certificate got to do with it?”
“I don’t know,” Kling said, and shrugged again. “Is it the same? The sex?”
“Sure,” Carella said.
“I don’t mean to get personal…”
“No, no.”
“But it’s the same, huh?”
“Sure, it’s the same.”
“And the rest? I mean, you know, do you still have fun?”
“Fun?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure, we have fun.”
“Like before?”
“Better than before.”
“Because we have a lot of fun together,” Kling said. “Augusta and I. A lot of fun.”
“That’s good,” Carella said.
“Yes, it’s very good. That two people can enjoy things together. I think that’s very good, Steve, don’t you?”
“Yes, I think it’s very good when that happens between two people.”
“Not that we don’t have fights,” Kling said.
“Well, everybody has fights. Any two people…”
“Yes, but not too many.”
“No, no.”
“And our… our personal relationship is very good. We’re very good together.”
“Mmm.”
“The sex I mean,” Kling said quickly, and suddenly seemed very intent on the road ahead. “That’s very good between us.”
“Mmm, well, good. That’s good.”
“Though not always. I mean, sometimes it’s not as good as other times.”
“Yes, well, that’s natural,” Carella said.
“But most of the time…”
“Yes, sure.”
“Most of the time, we really do enjoy it.”
“Sure,” Carella said.
“And we love each other. That’s important.”
“That’s the single most important thing,” Carella said.
“Yes, I think so.”
“No question.”
“It is the single most important thing,” Kling said. “It’s what makes everything else seem right. The decisions we make together, the things we do together, even the fights we have together. It’s the fact that we love each other… well… that’s what makes it work, you see.”