"S" is for Silence (19 page)

“Thanks. That makes me feel good.” She seemed hesitant. “What happened yesterday, with the car? I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have taken it. I know I was wrong putting all those miles on it, but something came over me. It was like I'd just gotten out of prison and the world could be anything. The sunshine and the ocean. It was just so beautiful, flying down the road. I had all the windows cranked down and my hair was whipping across my face. I took it all the way up to forty miles an hour—”

“Shit, Violet. Don't tell me that. You'll give me a heart attack.”

“Well, it was an amazing experience and I have you to thank.”

“And for this.”

“Yes, for this.”

He was quiet for a moment. “You know I can make it happen.”

“Make what happen?”

“The car. I can set it up so it's yours.”

She laughed. “Oh come on. Bullshit. You can't do that. Are you nuts?”

“I'm serious. Tell Foley to come talk to me. If he shows up tomorrow morning, I can make him a deal.”

“Foley doesn't have a dime.”

“I know, but we'll work something out.”

“You'd do that for me?”

“Yes.”

“You're not just pulling my leg?”

“I'd do anything for you. I mean it. I'm crazy about you.”

“You don't have to say that just because we ended up in bed.”

“You don't know what you've done for me. Everything's different now. I've changed.”

“Not changed at all. You're finally yourself.”

“Tell me you'll see me tomorrow,” he said. “Otherwise, I'll never make it to next week.”

She was quiet again, making a study of his face before she formulated her reply. “All right. Tomorrow at four. I've got something to take care of first so you gotta promise you won't get your undies in a wad if I'm late.”

 

Friday at 3:45, he checked into the Sandman. On Wednesday afternoon when he'd registered the first time, he'd told the desk clerk a pipe had broken in his house, badly flooding the downstairs. He spun the story off the top of his head, never realizing he'd be checking in again the very next day. Thursday, he told her he expected the repairs to be under way, but the contractor stood him up. She'd been sympathetic on the first day and skeptical the second. Today, she was snippy, saying if he was going to check in again, why not just keep the room instead of using it for an hour, checking out, and coming back the next day? He hadn't realized she was keeping track. He felt compelled to elaborate, talking about the smell of mildew, having to put all his furniture in storage. The phone rang in the midst of his recital. She picked up and turned her back to him. She went on chattering with some friend until he realized she didn't intend to listen to another word. He took his key and left. What a bitch. He was a respectable businessman. It was no concern of hers what he did or didn't do, or with whom. He wasn't sure why he'd even bothered to explain himself. There were other motels. Next time around he and Violet could find someplace else.

He returned to his car and drove the length of the parking lot and parked outside the room. On the way over, he'd stopped at the florist's and bought Violet an armload of flowers that he wanted her to see the minute she entered the room. He took the bouquet with him and let himself in. They'd twice been in room 14. This was room 12, and he noticed it was quite a bit shabbier. Not that she'd care. He knew the car was already in her possession, because Foley had driven it off the lot at 10:30 that morning. He'd come into the dealership at 8:45, and Chet had made him a better deal than he had any reason to expect. He'd been jovial through the process, knowing he'd be bedding the guy's wife by 4:15. He'd despised Foley previously, but now he pitied him as well. He was too doltish and too much the brute to appreciate what a rare and precious woman he had. She was clearly more than he could handle—young, sensual, beautiful, spirited. Foley'd tried controlling her with his fists, and all he'd done was drive her away. Chet knew how to treat a lady and he had the wherewithal to do it right. He'd already formulated half a dozen plans for getting her out of Foley's house and stashing her somewhere close. At first he thought he'd have to leave Livia, which he was perfectly willing to do. A divorce would be messy and painful, but he was forty-seven years old and entitled to happiness. Of course, his daughter would be upset, but kids were resilient—everybody said so. Kids sensed when their parents were unhappy, and you didn't do them any favors papering it all over and pretending everything was okay. Better to have it out in the open.

On further reflection, he wondered if his initial impulse was wrong. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how cruel it would be to put Livia through that—the public humiliation, the vituperative shouting matches, not to mention the reduced circumstances divorce would entail. After fifteen years of marriage, she'd be devastated. Better to take the high road and spare her the stigma of divorce and abandonment. His relationship with Violet was his to bear and he'd shoulder it like a man.

He'd checked the classified ads for apartments in Santa Teresa and spotted a rental he thought would serve. Clean and attractive, with an ocean view, it said. He could drive down to see Violet every chance he got. He'd fill her life with riches—clothes, travel, anything she wanted. She might resist at first, not wanting to be beholden, but now that the Bel Air was hers, she'd realize how far he was willing to go.

He filled the ice bucket with water and arranged the flowers, already fantasizing what was coming next. Compared to Violet, he was inexperienced and that was humbling. At the dealership, he was always on top—figuratively speaking—but here he yielded, allowing her to do with him as she would. Violet was the boss and he found himself giving up all power to her. The change was restful, a possibility that had never occurred to him. With Livia, he sometimes had to talk himself into making love. He had his physical needs, but it was just as easy to take care of them himself. With Violet, he was charged, half out of his mind in anticipation of her.

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. Look it 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.”