At the far end of the hall was a raised panel door that had been painted black. It opened and Pam Shepard came through it. There were tears running down her face. ”It’s me,“ she said. ”It’s my fault, they were just trying to protect me. If you’ve hurt her it’s my fault.“
Jane opened her eyes and stared up blankly at us. She moved her head. Rose Alexander said, ”Jane?“
I said, ”She’s going to be all right, Mrs. Shepard. You didn’t make her kick me in the groin.“
She too got down on the floor beside Jane. I got out of the way and leaned on the door jamb with my arms folded, trying to get the sick feeling to go away, and trying not to show it. People did not seem to be warming to me down here. I hoped Jane and Eddie never got together.
Jane was on her feet, Pam Shepard holding one arm and Rose Alexander the other. They went down the hall toward the black door. I followed along. Through the door was a big kitchen. A big old curvy-legged gas stove on one wall, a big oilcloth-covered table in the middle of the room, a couch with a brown corduroy spread along another wall. There was a pantry at the right rear and the walls were wainscoted narrow deal boards that reminded me of my grandmother’s house. They sat Jane down in a black leather upholstered rocker. Rose went to the pantry and returned with a wet cloth. She washed Jane’s face while Pam Shepard squeezed Jane’s hand. ”I’m all right,“ Jane said and pushed the wet cloth away. ”How the hell did you do that,“ she said to me. ”That kick was supposed to finish you right there.“
”I am a professional thug,“ I said.
”It shouldn’t matter,“ she said, frowning in puzzlement. ”A kick in the groin is a kick in the groin.“
”Ever do it for real before?“
”I’ve put in hours on the mat.“
”No, not instruction. Fighting. For real.“
”No,“ she said. ”But I wasn’t scared. I did it right.“
”Yeah, you did, but you got the wrong guy. One of the things that a kick in the groin will do is scare the kickee. Aside from the pain and all, it’s not something he’s used to and he cares about the area and he tends to double over and freeze. But I’ve been kicked before and I know that it hurts, but it’s not fatal. Not even to my sex life. And so I can force myself through the pain.“
”But…“ She shook her head.
”I know,“ I said. ”You thought you had a weapon that made you impregnable. That would keep people from shoving you around and the first time you use it you get cold-cocked. It is a ninety-five, I can bench-press three hundred pounds. I used to be a fighter. And I scuffle for a living. The karate will still work for you. But you gotta remember it’s not a sport in the street.“
”You think, goddamn you, you think it’s because you’re a man…“
”Nope. It’s because a good big person will beat a good small person every time. Most men aren’t as good as I am. A lot of them aren’t as good as you are.“
They were all looking at me and I felt isolated, unwelcome and uneasy. I wished there were another guy there. I said to Pam Shepard, ”Can we talk?“
Rose Alexander said, ”You don’t have to say a word to him, Pam.“
Jane said, ”There’s no point in it, Pam. You know how you feel.“
I looked at Pam Shepard. She had sucked in both lips so they were not visible, and her mouth was a thin line. She looked back at me and we held the pose for about thirty seconds.
”Twenty-two years,“ I said. ”And you knew him before you got married. More than twenty-two years you’ve known Harvey Shepard. Doesn’t that earn him five minutes of talk. Even if you don’t like him? Even simple duration eventually obliges you.“
She nodded her head, to herself, I think, more than to me.
”Tell him about obligation, I’ve known him since nineteen fifty,“ she said.
I shrugged. ”He’s forking out a hundred dollars a day and expenses to find you.“
”That’s his style, the big gesture. ‘See how much I love you,’ but is he looking? No, you’re looking.“
”Better than no one looking.“
”Is it?“ There was color on her cheekbones now. ”Is it really? Why isn’t it worse? Why isn’t it intrusive? Why isn’t it a big pain in the ass? Why don’t you all just leave me the goddamned hell alone?“
”I’m guessing,“ I said, ”but I think it’s because he loves you.“
”Loves me, what the hell has that got to do with anything. He probably does love me. I never doubted that he did. So what. Does that mean I have to love him? His way? By his definition?“
Rose Alexander said, ”It’s an argument men have used since the Middle Ages to keep women in subjugation.“
”Was that a master-slave relationship Jane was trying to establish with me?“ I said.
”You may joke all you wish,“ Rose said, ”but it is perfectly clear that men have used love as a way of obligating women. You even used the term yourself.“ Rose was apparently the theoretician of the group.
”Rosie,“ I said. ”I am not here to argue sexism with you. It exists and I’m against it. But what we’ve got here is not a theory, it’s a man and a woman who’ve known each other a long time and conspired to produce children. I want to talk with her about that.“
”You cannot,“ Rose said, ”separate the theory from its application. And“—her look was very forceful—”you cannot get the advantage of me by using the diminutive of my name. I’m quite aware of your tricks.“
”Take a walk with me,“ I said to Pam Shepard.
”Don’t do it, Pam,“ Jane said.
”You’ll not take her from this house,“ Rose said.
I ignored them and looked at Pam Shepard. ”A walk,“ I said, ”down toward the bridge. We can stand and look at the water and talk and then we’ll walk back.“
She nodded. ”Yes,“ she said, ”I’ll walk with you. Maybe you can make him understand.“
Chapter 9
Protests, excursion and alarums followed Pam Shepard’s decision but in the end it was agreed that we would, in fact, stroll down toward the harbor and that Jane and Rose would follow along, at a discreet distance in case I tried to chloroform her and stuff her in a sack.
As we walked along Front Street the light was strong on her face and I realized she was probably around my age. There were faint lines of adulthood at her eyes and the corners of her mouth. They didn’t detract, in fact they added a little, I thought, to her appeal. She didn’t look like someone who’d need to pick up overweight shovel operators in bars. Hell, she could have her choice of sophisticated private eyes. I wondered if she’d object to the urine stain on my shoe.
We turned onto the bridge and walked far enough out on it to look at the water. The water made the city look good. Oil slick, cigarette wrappers, dead fish, gelatinous-looking pieces of water-soaked driftwood, an unraveled condom looking like an eel skin against the coffee-colored water. Had it looked like this when Melville shipped out on a whaler 130 years ago? Christ, I hope not.