"Not for me," I said and walked with Lisa to the car and got in and took her home.
Driving south toward Boston, the car was heading straight into the rain, and it flooded against the windshield. The dancer drove. She was in back with the big man. In the car she pulled away from his arm. It was protective, but it was encircling as well and she could not stand to be contained even that much. They spoke. But nothing they said seemed to penetrate the crystalline stillness she was inside of. There was a conversation on the car phone. The heavy wet sound of traffic hummed in the background as they drove. Then the dark highway got brighter and they were inside of 128. Then the rain stopped and the windshield cleared. They rolled through the suburbs, where the lighted windows showed along the highway and people were living reasonable lives. The highway elevated and soon they were in the city back of the north station and then they were on the central artery. Soon they pulled in under the canopy of a hospital and she was out of the car and in the lobby. There were policemen there, some she remembered knowing. Elevator, people in the corridor, white dresses, white coats, a room where Frank sat up in the bed, clean shaven with his hair combed. She stopped inside the door. There were people in the room. The big man said something. The people lingered. He said something again, harder, and people left the room. The big man went with them. Alone. She walked slowly to the bed and looked down at her husband. He spoke. She spoke. She felt tears behind her eyes. She sat on the bed beside him and he put out his right arm and she slowly sank inside it and pressed her face against his chest and closed her eyes and saw nothing else. Later she would wonder if she'd hurt him, pressing so hard against his chest. But if she did, he didn't say so, and his arm around her held firm.
Chapter 43
It was a warm Saturday night in August, and Pearl was staying at my place while Susan and I were at her place having cocktails, and roasting fresh corn and two buffalo steaks over the charcoal on Susan's open air upper deck. The buffalo steaks came from a place in north central Mass. called Alta Vista farm, and Susan liked them because they had less fat than chicken. We had the charcoal in the grill and were waiting for it to get that nice gray ash all over it, while the steaks were in the kitchen marinating in red wine, rosemary, and garlic. Since it was hot on the porch, we thought after the second cocktail that a shower would be nice, and then when we were showered and had our clothes off anyway, why not lie down for a bit in the airconditioned bedroom, while we waited for the charcoal. "I had lunch with Lisa St. Claire today," Susan said. "She spoke very warmly of you."
I was analyzing why Susan's body was so much better than other women's. This required me to look at it studiously, and at times, do some hands-on research. I knew it distracted her from what she was saying, but science must be served.
"Maybe it's because I rescued her from a homicidal maniac," I said.
"Probably has something to do with it… What are you doing?"
"Experimenting."
"Well, if you wish to, you may do it again."
"As necessary," I said. "How are she and Belson doing?"
"I think they are okay," Susan said. "For one thing, they are now dealing with the real people, not some fairy-tale people they've invented for each other."
Susan took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "And… they've both… learned," she said.
"Yes?" I said. "What have they both learned?"
Susan shifted a little on the bed beside me.
"I… don't… remember," she said.
"She learned that he couldn't entirely protect her," I said.
"Yes," Susan said.
"He learned that she was not a goddess who had deigned to marry him," I said.
"And… what… have… you… learned?"
"I believe I've learned how to get your attention," I said. My voice sounded a little hoarse to me.
"You've… known… that… for… years," Susan said.
She put her face very close to mine so that her lips mashed mine when she spoke. I cleared my throat, but my voice still seemed scratchy.
"No harm in retraining," I croaked. "None."
Susan arched her body toward me. Her voice was very soft.
"Do…me… a… favor?" she said.
"Yes."
"Please… stop… talking," she whispered.
"We're so freshly showered," I wheezed. "Should we get all sweaty again?"
"Shut… up," she whispered. So I did.
Thin Air Page 20
