usually won their matches. Later that afternoon, when I pulled up in front of the apartment, Vivian's red Porsche was parked at the curb, just past the spray of purple bougainvillea that was overwhelm- ing the hedges in front of the building. Sternfeld was sitting in a lawn chair under the eaves, his aluminum walker off to one side. He shielded his eyes from the sun as I came up the three steps that led to the first landing. I looked down the walkway at the closed door of my apartment. "Where is she?" I asked. "I'll give you two guesses," Sternfeld said. "And it's not my place." "You let her in?" 44
"She had the key, asshole." "You're right. I forgot about that." "You told me she was history," Sternfeld said. "She is." "Well, I guess history just got reincarnated." "We'll see about that." "When are we going back to the Rascal House?" Stern- feld asked. "I'm overdue for a corned beef on rye." "Soon," I said. "That's what you said last week." When I opened the door, Vivian was sitting at the small table in the alcove next to the kitchen. She stood up and walked into my arms, and I held her to me. She was trem- bling with fear and relief, as though in great distress she had arrived at a place of possible deliverance, and I knew that I had been waiting a long time for exactly this moment, when every absence and betrayal would be canceled out by a simple embrace--at least temporarily. I took her chin in my hand and turned her head. There were tears in her dark eyes. Despite myself, I was glad to see her. "You cut your hair," I said. "I hate it," she said petulantly. "They took too much off." "No," I said. "It looks good." I asked her if she wanted anything to drink, then went to the fridge and brought out two Diet Cokes and poured hers into a clean glass. When I came back, she was smoking a Marlboro. I went into the kitchen again and found a lid from an empty jar of mayonnaise and set it down in front of her to use as an ashtray. "I thought you quit those," I said. "I started again this morning." "A killing will do that to you." Her face lost its tan, and for a second she reminded me 45
of one of those scared, desperate people you see sitting in a holding room at the police station who are at the beginning of a new kind of trouble. Her dark eyes quivered, then stared straight through me. "It seems like a nightmare," she said. "It is a nightmare. What are you going to do?" "I don't know. My father said you were out to see him this morning." "He asked me to get rid of your boyfriend's boat, but I had to turn him down." "I know." "Then why are you here?" "I'm not sure. I suppose it's because you're my friend." "It's strange you picked today to remember that. I haven't seen you in more than a year." "You didn't want to see me." "Why do you think I want to see you now?" "Should I leave?" "So you shot Matson. I guess things didn't work out be- tween you two." Mentioning Matson's name had summoned up all the bit- terness I had felt toward both of them. I watched her impas- sively, as though her weeping were an accompaniment to the dark, righteous mood I was sealed so tightly into. But it was no fun being in command of a shit situation. Her cigarette burned down, and the ash tipped backward onto the scarred surface of the table. I picked it up and snubbed it out, flicked the butt over her head and into the sink. "Do you have a tissue?" she asked. "No. You should have called ahead." "You're not going to help me, are you?" "I'll help you call the police. I'll even go down there with you, but that's about all I can do." Vivian looked at me as though she were searching for 46
some sign that I was still the same man she had known before. I wasn't. I felt a great coldness toward her. My mouth was clamped shut to the point that my jaw began to hurt, and I took a sip of Coke to ease the pressure, but it didn't ease the coldness that held me like a man frozen in an iceberg. "I know I hurt you," she said in a soft voice. "Don't worry about me.
"She had the key, asshole." "You're right. I forgot about that." "You told me she was history," Sternfeld said. "She is." "Well, I guess history just got reincarnated." "We'll see about that." "When are we going back to the Rascal House?" Stern- feld asked. "I'm overdue for a corned beef on rye." "Soon," I said. "That's what you said last week." When I opened the door, Vivian was sitting at the small table in the alcove next to the kitchen. She stood up and walked into my arms, and I held her to me. She was trem- bling with fear and relief, as though in great distress she had arrived at a place of possible deliverance, and I knew that I had been waiting a long time for exactly this moment, when every absence and betrayal would be canceled out by a simple embrace--at least temporarily. I took her chin in my hand and turned her head. There were tears in her dark eyes. Despite myself, I was glad to see her. "You cut your hair," I said. "I hate it," she said petulantly. "They took too much off." "No," I said. "It looks good." I asked her if she wanted anything to drink, then went to the fridge and brought out two Diet Cokes and poured hers into a clean glass. When I came back, she was smoking a Marlboro. I went into the kitchen again and found a lid from an empty jar of mayonnaise and set it down in front of her to use as an ashtray. "I thought you quit those," I said. "I started again this morning." "A killing will do that to you." Her face lost its tan, and for a second she reminded me 45
of one of those scared, desperate people you see sitting in a holding room at the police station who are at the beginning of a new kind of trouble. Her dark eyes quivered, then stared straight through me. "It seems like a nightmare," she said. "It is a nightmare. What are you going to do?" "I don't know. My father said you were out to see him this morning." "He asked me to get rid of your boyfriend's boat, but I had to turn him down." "I know." "Then why are you here?" "I'm not sure. I suppose it's because you're my friend." "It's strange you picked today to remember that. I haven't seen you in more than a year." "You didn't want to see me." "Why do you think I want to see you now?" "Should I leave?" "So you shot Matson. I guess things didn't work out be- tween you two." Mentioning Matson's name had summoned up all the bit- terness I had felt toward both of them. I watched her impas- sively, as though her weeping were an accompaniment to the dark, righteous mood I was sealed so tightly into. But it was no fun being in command of a shit situation. Her cigarette burned down, and the ash tipped backward onto the scarred surface of the table. I picked it up and snubbed it out, flicked the butt over her head and into the sink. "Do you have a tissue?" she asked. "No. You should have called ahead." "You're not going to help me, are you?" "I'll help you call the police. I'll even go down there with you, but that's about all I can do." Vivian looked at me as though she were searching for 46
some sign that I was still the same man she had known before. I wasn't. I felt a great coldness toward her. My mouth was clamped shut to the point that my jaw began to hurt, and I took a sip of Coke to ease the pressure, but it didn't ease the coldness that held me like a man frozen in an iceberg. "I know I hurt you," she said in a soft voice. "Don't worry about me.
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