by Sue Grafton
Oddly enough, he’d caught sight of her earlier in the day. Shortly after noon, he’d driven into Santa Maria to do his end-of-the-week banking, forgetting that the bank would be closed for the Fourth of July. He’d parked near the Savoy Hotel, and as he was passing the tea shop window, he chanced to look in. There sat Violet with her little daughter, Daisy, and Liza Mellincamp, having a gay old time of it. He smiled at how happy she looked, probably because the car was now hers. He was tempted to tap on the glass and wave to her, but he thought better of it. From now on, in public, he’d act like he didn’t have a clue who she was.
4:20. She was late, which she’d warned him about. At 4:26 he checked his watch again, wondering if something had gone dreadfully wrong. If she’d been unavoidably delayed, there was no way she could call because she couldn’t be sure what name he’d used when he was checking in. On the off chance Foley had arrived home unexpectedly, she could hardly excuse herself and go use the phone. Foley was paranoid as it was. Between bouts of lovemaking the day before, she’d let slip some of the things he’d done to her, the threats, promises of retribution if he ever found out she’d betrayed him again. Chet was appalled, but she’d shrugged it off as though it was no big deal. “But I’ll tell you one thing,” she’d said. “Next time he comes after me, that’s it for him. I’m out.”
4:29. Chet could feel anxiety roiling in his gut. What if Foley had gotten wind of their rendezvous? Chet didn’t dare leave. If she finally showed up and he was gone, she’d be furious.
At 4:36, he heard a tap on the door. He pulled the curtain aside, half-expecting to see Foley with a gun in his hand. It was Violet, thank god. He opened the door and in she strolled without a word of explanation. He waited, thinking surely she’d offer an excuse—errands, Daisy, heavy traffic on the road.
“Jesus, what happened? You said four.” He knew his tone was accusatory, but he was so relieved to see her he couldn’t help himself.
“That’s all you’ve got to say to me? I risk life and limb getting here and you’re pissed that I’m late? I told you not to get your shorts up your crack.”
“Of course I’m not pissed. I was just worried, that’s all. I’m sorry if I came off sounding like a jerk.”
“Where’d the flowers come from? You buy those for me?”
“You like them?”
“Sure, but it’s a lot of money for thirty minutes max.” She tossed her purse on the chair and slipped off her heels, which she kicked to one side.
“That’s all the time you have? I thought you said an hour?”
“That’s right. I got an hour and now half of it’s gone, so don’t hassle me, okay? We’ve got better things to do.” She began peeling off her clothes. Dress. Panties. She unhooked her bra, letting her breasts swing free. He couldn’t pinpoint her mood. Under the casual manner, there was an edginess he didn’t like. He waited for mention of the car, but she didn’t say a word. She might be uncomfortable expressing gratitude. She was staring at him. “Are you going to strip or just stand there and look at me all day?”
He undressed quickly while Violet pulled the covers down and got into bed. They made love, but with not quite the ardor he’d experienced the day before. His performance wasn’t all he’d hoped for either, though Violet was nice about it, saying, “Oh, quit fretting. Everybody has an off day. You’re fine.”
Afterward she swung her feet out of bed and sat up. Despite her reassurances, he was wary, wanting to make it up to her. He put his arms around her from behind, nuzzling her hair, kissing the smooth skin in the middle of her back. He could feel himself coming to life again where it counted. “Check this,” he said.
“Quit slobbering. You’re getting on my nerves.”
Teasingly he tugged on a strand of her hair. “So how does it feel to have your very own Bel Air?”
That brought a smile. She said, “Good. It’s great. When Foley came home this morning he parked it out in front and had me look through the window. I could hardly believe my eyes.”
She made it sound like Foley deserved the credit. Chet would have kidded her about it, but he sensed that under it all, she was depressed. “Hey, Henny Penny. What’s wrong? Has the sky fallen in on you?”
“I’m fine.”
“I know you better than that. What is it?”
“I just don’t see how I can keep doing this. Foley and I got into this huge fight last night and the fucker tore up the house. It’s like he can sense something’s off. He hasn’t figured it out, but it won’t take him long. Once he picks up the scent, he’s a regular bloodhound.”
“Has he said anything?”
“No, but there’s this look in his eye and it’s scaring me to death. I’m skating on thin ice. One wrong move and…”
“What?”
“I don’t know, but something bad.”
“Oh, come on. It can’t be as serious as all that.”
“Easy for you to say.”
He felt a whisper of fear. “So let’s take a little break until he calms down again. Tomorrow’s a holiday. I have work to do anyway so there’s no way to meet. This weekend, you can pal around with him. Go to the fireworks, take a picnic supper, do whatever you have to do. You’ll have him eating out of your hand.”
“Oh, sure. Make light of it. Good old Violet. Just hang out and jolly him along, kiss his ass, suck his dick, anything to pacify the guy, who’s been a maniac from birth.”
“I wasn’t making light.”
“Well, you don’t live with him. You don’t know what he’s like. You’re not the one he’s busting in the chops every other day. Lookit this, I still got a bruise from where he threw a friggin’ coffeepot at me.”
“So why not leave?”
“And go where? How far do you think I’d get?”
“As far as you like. If it’s a matter of money, I can help you out.”
“It’s not money, Chet. Is that all you think about?”
“What then?”
“Shit. How can I make myself clear? It’s just this feeling I get…like I’m in this alone. Who cares about me, right? In this town, I’m dirt, lower than the low.”
“I care.”
“Uh-hun.”
“I’m serious. I care deeply about you.”
“I know what you care about. Getting laid.”
“Now wait a minute—”
“I’m just kidding you, okay? I’m trying to lighten up. What good’s it ever done me to feel sorry for myself?”
“Violet, I’m on your side. That’s the point I’m trying to make. I’ve been thinking about it and it’s not a good idea for you to stay under his roof. So what occurred to me was finding you another place to live—”
“Yeah…well, not to worry. I’ll figure it out.”
“But why won’t you let me help when I’m seriously concerned?”
“Come on, Chet. ‘Seriously concerned?’ You think I don’t see what’s going on? This isn’t about me. This is about you and what you want. These past two days, you haven’t asked me one thing about myself except do I use birth control. Now how’s that for concern? Like you’re such a stallion I might get knocked up and ruin the rest of your life.”
He could feel his face go blank.
She caught his look and relented. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I don’t even know what I’m talking about. Why don’t we just chalk it up to that time of the month.”
“Is that it? Why didn’t you say so? Come here—”
“Would you quit with the phony tone of voice. That’s not going to solve my problem. Don’t you get that?” She got up and paced once across the room before she sat down again. She leaned forward, with her elbows on her knees, and put her face in her hands. She made a low exasperated moan. “You’re not hearing me, but it’s my fault. I’ll take all the blame. I should have made myself clear. What’s going to keep me safe, Chet, is to stay the hell away from you. You’re a nice guy and a good egg, but when it comes to screwing around, you’re an amateur. If I�
�m in jeopardy—which I am—it’s because of you.”
“But that’s what I’m trying to say. I can get you out of here.”
“No, you can’t. Look at you, goofy about me and all goofy for love. You think I’m the answer to your prayers, but I’m the quickest road to hell. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m telling you the truth. You can’t live this way, with all the sneaking around. It’s not in your nature. Basically you’re a decent man, which means you’ll miscalculate. You’ll make some stupid mistake and there goes my ass. I’m better off calling a halt to it right here.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“You see? That’s what I’m talking about. You’re not listening to me. You’re not only putting me in the path of a train, you’re tying me to the tracks. If you care—if you love me so much—why don’t you give me a fighting chance and keep the hell away. I can manage Foley, but not with you bumbling around. Because here’s how it’s going to go. One night you’ll walk into the Moon with a bullshit grin on your face. Foley will take one look at you and he’ll know everything. Then guess who’s dead meat? First me, then you, then him.”
“That won’t happen. He’s never going to know. Violet, I talked to him this morning. He sat at my desk not even this far away. I swear he doesn’t have a clue.”
“You wanna know why that is? Because it was about money and him trying to get something out of you. Also, because right now, we’ve been together three days and you haven’t had a chance to screw it up yet, but you will.”
“Wait, wait, wait. Let’s just think. No need to do anything rash. Look, how about this? I can rent you an apartment in Santa Teresa…under a fake name. You don’t like that idea, we’ll take off together and settle someplace else. I’d do that for you, I swear.”
She smiled and shook her head. “That’s your solution? You got a great imagination. I gotta hand it to you.” She found her brassiere and hooked herself into it. She bent over and maneuvered her breasts, arranging each in its cup. She retrieved her underpants and stepped into them. She settled her dress over her head and zipped herself up. This was a strip show in reverse. She came back as far as the bed table where she took a cigarette from his pack and tamped it on her thumbnail. “Look at this joint. They don’t even provide a friggin’ pack of matches. Can you give me a light?”
Numb, he flicked his lighter and watched her lean toward the flame, holding her hair out of the way. She took a drag, inhaled, and blew a stream of smoke at the ceiling. “Thanks.” She took the ashtray and her purse and went into the bathroom. Through the open doorway, he could see her putting on her face.
He followed as far as the door and caught her reflection in the mirror. “You’re telling me it’s over.”
“That’s right. No offense, but let’s bail while we can.”
He was silent for almost a full minute, while he thought about the last three days. “You did it for the car, didn’t you?”
Her mouth came open and she turned. “You said, what?”
“This was all so you could get the car and now that you have it, you’re finished with me.”
“Are you saying that I fucked you to get a car?! Thanks so much. What kind of whore does that make me? You’re the one telling me not to talk shit about myself, and listen to the shit that comes out of your mouth.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry—”
“If you’re so sorry then why don’t you quit pushing me around?” Abruptly she went back to her lipstick, following the outline of her mouth. “You want to be a bully, take a number and get in line. When it comes to abuse, Foley’s got it all over you.”
“Are you crazy? You’re crazy. Don’t stand there bragging about how bad the guy treats you. I came here prepared to offer you a life.”
“Listen, Buster, I have a life. Might not look like much to you, but I’m doing the best I can so don’t you condescend to me.”
“Violet…don’t.” He tried to speak, but his throat closed and his voice cracked.
“Jesus, Chet. Be a big boy about this. It’s been great, but let’s face facts. It’s sex. Right now, it might be firecracker hot, but how long does that last? In two months it’s gone, so don’t make more of it than it is. You’re not going to run off with me. You’re full of shit.”
Chet took the last drag of his cigarette and flipped it out the window. He took one more pull from his flask and put that away. The tractor and flatbed, deck empty now, passed him again, heading back toward the 166. On the Tanner property, the bright yellow bulldozer sat with two others, looking as big as a tank. He hadn’t been on a bulldozer since he was eighteen years old, that ball-busting summer before his father had been killed. He’d worked construction, thinking he could set aside some cash for his freshman year of college. Nowadays the union trained guys to operate heavy equipment, but in those days, you got on a dozer, fired it up, and hoped you wouldn’t drive yourself into a ditch.
He turned the key in the ignition and released the T of the emergency brake. He made a U-turn across the two lanes of deserted road. What he’d been through with Violet was the equivalent of a three-year affair compressed into three days. Beginning, middle, and end. Over and out. He couldn’t help thinking she’d made a bigger fool of him than he knew. He’d been set up, duped. She wanted the car. It was obvious now, but she’d played him well and he half-admired her finesse. She’d crooked her little finger and he’d scampered after her, as frisky as a pup. He didn’t feel it yet, the shame, but he would very soon, once the liquor wore off. He knew his humiliation was commensurate with his joy, but the joy had been fleeting while the rage would burn at his core like the fire in the bowels of a coal mine, year after year. What wounded him was knowing she felt none of his pain. Now every time he saw the car, every time Foley made a payment, he’d cringe, feeling powerless and small. He’d go home to Livia and that would be that. His life had been barely tolerable before, but what would it be like now that he knew the difference?
At the house, he pulled into the driveway and put his car in the garage. Mentally he shook himself off, struggling for control. He had a part to play. He couldn’t let Violet ruin his home life as she’d ruined his work. He let himself in the house. The hall smelled of cabbage that had cooked half a day. He wanted to weep. He couldn’t even look forward to a good meal at home. Livia, with her heavy hand and glum notions about food, served nearly inedible fare—mackerel loaf, creamed chicken on waffles, tapioca pudding that looked like a clot of egg-infested mucilage spawned by a fish. He’d eaten it all, every variation on a theme, sometimes too frightened to inquire what it was.
“Daddy, is that you?”
“Yes.”
He peered into the living room. Kathy was sprawled on the couch, her heavy legs flung over one end. She wore white shorts and a T-shirt, both inappropriate for someone her size. She had a strand of hair in her mouth and she was sucking on the end while she watched television. The Howdy Doody Show. Talk about a waste of time. A cowboy marionette with freckles and a flapping mouth. You could even see the strings that generated his movements, his wobbly boots dangling on tippy-toe as he pranced across the screen.
Chet took off his sport coat and hung it on a peg in the hall. What did he care if the shoulder got pulled out of shape? He undid his collar button and loosened his tie. He had to get a grip. But fifteen minutes later, as he was sitting down for supper, Livia made a half-assed remark, saying how ridiculous it was that the South Korean president, Syngman Rhee, called on Christians and non-Christians to pray for peace.
He stared at her, instantly incensed. “You think it’s ridiculous the war might come to an end? After we’ve lost thirty-three thousand U.S. troops? Where the hell is your head? Rhee’s the guy who released twenty-seven thousand North Korean POWs less than two weeks ago, sabotaging armistice talks. Now he’s softened his position and you want to sit there sneering at him?”
Livia’s lips tightened to such an extent he was surprised she could speak. “All I’m saying is
there’s no point in non-Christians praying for peace when they don’t believe in God.”
“Non-Christians don’t believe in God? Is that what you think? Anyone who doesn’t go to your personal church and worship your personal deity is some kind of heathen? Livia, you can’t be that idiotic.”
He could tell she was offended, but he really didn’t care. Cheeks stained with indignation, she snapped his dinner plate on the table in front of him with a force that nearly cracked it in two. He looked down at the meal, which consisted of a main dish and a side of cabbage that had boiled so long all the color had cooked out. He pointed to the entrée. “What’s this?”
Livia sat down and arranged her napkin in her lap. “We’re having International Night. The first Friday of every month. Kathy prepared the dish and I think it’s lovely.”
“It’s Welch Rabbit,” Kathy said, happily, already lifting a fully loaded fork to her lips.
“Welch? There’s no such place as Welch. Are you out of your minds? This isn’t rabbit. It’s cheese goo on toast.”
“Would you sample a bite before you judge, or is that too much to ask after Kathy’s worked so hard?”
“This is shit! I can’t work a full day and sit down to a meal like this. There’s no meat.”
“Please watch your language. There’s a young lady present.”
He pushed his plate back. “Excuse me.” He left the table and went into the downstairs powder room, where he pulled out his flask and downed the remaining vodka in six swallows. It wasn’t nearly enough, but maybe he’d managed to survive the next fifteen minutes without going berserk.
He returned to the table and began to eat, trying to imagine how normal men behaved. Husbands all over America must be sitting down to dinners just like this, with wives and daughters like the two he faced. How did they do it? Making small talk? He could do that. Clearly there was no point discussing world peace. He glanced at Kathy, not looking too closely as she tended to chew with her mouth open. He said, “I saw your friend today.”
