behaved awfully stupidly last night, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
“I’m terribly sorry, really I am.”
“That’s why you’re calling?”
“No. No, Peter. That isn’t why I’m calling.” Her voice sounded stronger, as if she was leaning into the mouthpiece. I could visualize the gold hair, shiny as the composition of the telephone, sliding around it. I could feel hair in my mouth. “Peter, I’m calling because of something terribly important.”
“What?”
“Something you told me. Remember, Peter?” She laughed. It was a stilted laugh, almost as if she were drunk, but I didn’t think she was. “Remember you called me a bitch, a nasty little spoiled rich bitch?”
“I guess I was a bit low, common, and vulgar.”
“Oh, no. No. Not that. You were wonderful. I thought about it. All the way driving home I thought about it. I thought about how you said I should leave them alone—Martin and Marietta and Iris, how I was only trying to make them miserable to satisfy my own egoism. Remember?”
“Unfortunately I do.”
“Don’t say unfortunately, Peter. It’s the truth. I’ve thought and it’s the truth. Can I see you?”
“See me?”
“Yes, can you drive down to Taxco? It’s only sixty miles. You can come down.” She laughed. “You aren’t doing anything, anyway.”
Incredibly, it seemed that losing my temper with her had been more effective than any crafty strategy I could have thought up. I said, “Sure I can come, Sally, if there’s any point to my coming.”
“Of course there’s a point because—don’t you see—I’m not going to the police today.”
“You’re not?”
“No.” She paused. I could hear her breathing, short, fluttery. The connection was that good. “Not today. Maybe I’ll never go to the police if—”
“If?”
“If you come.”
“Why do you want me?”
“Because. Because I want you to know what I know about them.”
“About who?”
“About Martin and Marietta—what they did. I want you to know. I want you to advise me. If you think it’s so bad I should go to the police, I’ll go. If you think I should let them off, maybe I’ll let them off.”
I could hardly believe the Ericsson telephone. “And if I think you should let them off?”
“Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll leave, Peter. Maybe I’ll give Martin a divorce. Maybe I’ll go back to the States. Maybe I’ll go away.”
“Okay, Sally. I’ll be there. When?”
“Eight thirty.”
“Why so late?”
“I don’t want you until eight thirty.”
“Okay.”
“But you’ll come?” Her voice was suddenly anxious. “You’ll come?”
“Sure I’ll come.”
“I like you.” She said that in a curious, quivery way. “I like the things you say to me. I like you.”
Suddenly I saw her waiting for me at eight thirty, waiting on a couch, maybe, smiling up at me with her small teeth, stretching the thin arms up, making the silver bracelets clatter. I’d been everything else for Iris. Did I have to be a stallion too?
I didn’t say anything. Her voice sounded again sharply, “Peter, are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“And you’ll come?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t tell Marietta.”
“No?”
“I don’t want her to know I’m letting her off. I want her to sweat.” She added with the beginning of anger in her voice, “She isn’t there with you, is she?”
“No one’s here. I’m alone.”
“Then come.”
“Eight thirty.”
“Eight thirty. I like you.”
There was the faintest suggestion of the giggle again. I heard her receiver click back on its stand.
Seven
I lit a cigarette, wondering about Sally. I contrasted her ferocity of the night before with this new blandness. If I hadn’t known how unstable she was, I would have suspected a trick, another turn of the screw. It might still be a trick. And then again it might not. I knew I’d have to go through with the Taxco trip. I’d set myself up as everyone’s little friend, the golden-hearted guy who
“Yes.”
“I’m terribly sorry, really I am.”
“That’s why you’re calling?”
“No. No, Peter. That isn’t why I’m calling.” Her voice sounded stronger, as if she was leaning into the mouthpiece. I could visualize the gold hair, shiny as the composition of the telephone, sliding around it. I could feel hair in my mouth. “Peter, I’m calling because of something terribly important.”
“What?”
“Something you told me. Remember, Peter?” She laughed. It was a stilted laugh, almost as if she were drunk, but I didn’t think she was. “Remember you called me a bitch, a nasty little spoiled rich bitch?”
“I guess I was a bit low, common, and vulgar.”
“Oh, no. No. Not that. You were wonderful. I thought about it. All the way driving home I thought about it. I thought about how you said I should leave them alone—Martin and Marietta and Iris, how I was only trying to make them miserable to satisfy my own egoism. Remember?”
“Unfortunately I do.”
“Don’t say unfortunately, Peter. It’s the truth. I’ve thought and it’s the truth. Can I see you?”
“See me?”
“Yes, can you drive down to Taxco? It’s only sixty miles. You can come down.” She laughed. “You aren’t doing anything, anyway.”
Incredibly, it seemed that losing my temper with her had been more effective than any crafty strategy I could have thought up. I said, “Sure I can come, Sally, if there’s any point to my coming.”
“Of course there’s a point because—don’t you see—I’m not going to the police today.”
“You’re not?”
“No.” She paused. I could hear her breathing, short, fluttery. The connection was that good. “Not today. Maybe I’ll never go to the police if—”
“If?”
“If you come.”
“Why do you want me?”
“Because. Because I want you to know what I know about them.”
“About who?”
“About Martin and Marietta—what they did. I want you to know. I want you to advise me. If you think it’s so bad I should go to the police, I’ll go. If you think I should let them off, maybe I’ll let them off.”
I could hardly believe the Ericsson telephone. “And if I think you should let them off?”
“Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll leave, Peter. Maybe I’ll give Martin a divorce. Maybe I’ll go back to the States. Maybe I’ll go away.”
“Okay, Sally. I’ll be there. When?”
“Eight thirty.”
“Why so late?”
“I don’t want you until eight thirty.”
“Okay.”
“But you’ll come?” Her voice was suddenly anxious. “You’ll come?”
“Sure I’ll come.”
“I like you.” She said that in a curious, quivery way. “I like the things you say to me. I like you.”
Suddenly I saw her waiting for me at eight thirty, waiting on a couch, maybe, smiling up at me with her small teeth, stretching the thin arms up, making the silver bracelets clatter. I’d been everything else for Iris. Did I have to be a stallion too?
I didn’t say anything. Her voice sounded again sharply, “Peter, are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“And you’ll come?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t tell Marietta.”
“No?”
“I don’t want her to know I’m letting her off. I want her to sweat.” She added with the beginning of anger in her voice, “She isn’t there with you, is she?”
“No one’s here. I’m alone.”
“Then come.”
“Eight thirty.”
“Eight thirty. I like you.”
There was the faintest suggestion of the giggle again. I heard her receiver click back on its stand.
Seven
I lit a cigarette, wondering about Sally. I contrasted her ferocity of the night before with this new blandness. If I hadn’t known how unstable she was, I would have suspected a trick, another turn of the screw. It might still be a trick. And then again it might not. I knew I’d have to go through with the Taxco trip. I’d set myself up as everyone’s little friend, the golden-hearted guy who
Similar Books
