The Anatomy of Violence (12 page)

The blue sedan pulled in and parked at the other end of the lot. I stepped out and took Jules’ arm. “Why should I change my mind?”

Our private dining room had a couch, a table, and just enough light to distinguish a fork from a spoon. The food was brought in by a girl who seemed to be wearing only an apron. I asked Jules if they had a waitress problem with uniforms like that. He laughed. When the girl brought the wine, he said, “Turn on the light, Rosita. The lady’s interested in your uniform.”

The girl flicked a wall switch, and I saw the flesh-colored leotard under the apron. She pirouetted and dimpled at Jules. “Do you object to the uniform?”

“Not tonight, Rosita.”

After she left, I said, “You seem to be well-known here.”

He laughed and filled my glass. “That applies to many places.”

He began talking about his travels in Europe, Mexico and Cuba. He rested his arm on the couch behind me and stroked the back of my neck as he talked. I sipped the wine and thought of Richard searching Jules’ car in the blinding light of the parking lot.

“I had years of time to kill,” Jules said, “while I waited for Grandmam to die so I could do things with the company. Once I even tried your field—acting.” His hand left my neck and the room went dark.

“Really?” I kept my voice casual. “What kind?”

“I wanted to star, naturally. So I wrote my own play and staged it off Broadway. It was a flop, but fun.” His hand dropped to the small of my back and slipped under my jersey. “I wanted to try one more but Grandmam wired me and said, ‘One may be fun but two is silly. Come home and get busy.’”

I tightened my jaw as his hand began an exploratory journey along my leg. I was glad the knife was on the other leg. “So you gave up acting.”

“It isn’t for me—but I’d like to try again, vicariously. We’ll go to the lodge, I’ll find a play for you. Something with an ingénue role. That’s where you belong.” He moved forward on the couch and pressed me back against it. “Better training than school.”

“Jules, did you have any … special talents?”

“Like what?”

“Like imitations and—
oh!”
The back of the couch suddenly fell and we were lying down. “That’s … a very interesting couch, Jules. Now let me up.”

“Yes.” His weight remained. “A great timesaver, just press a button.” He pressed his lips to the hollow of my neck and the skin crawled along my back. “Let’s undress, Laurie.”

“No,
Jules!”
He’d pushed up my bra and jersey and buried his face between my breasts. I hooked my fingers in his hair and pushed with all my strength. “You … if you want that … ring for Rosita.”

“I don’t want Rosita.” His voice was muffled against my stomach. “If it comes to strength, I have more than you.”

My arms were aching. “I can scream.”

“It’s been done. The rooms are soundproof.”

I should have known from the complete absence of noise in the room. He caught my wrists in an iron grip and forced my hands back beside my head. I could see his white teeth above me. “I’m doing you a favor, Laurie. If you wait too long-”

“The cowboy philosophy?” I strained to keep my legs together as his knee pressed hard between mine. “If you get thrown, jump back on before the fear builds up?”

“It works for cowboys.” His knee was moving, forcing my skirt upward. Soon he’d discover the knife, and I couldn’t even get my hands on it.

“Maybe you’re right, Jules.” I let my body go limp.

I felt his grip relax and jerked my hands free. I braced my shoulders and heels against the couch and arched my body, rolling from beneath him. I hit the floor and ran to the door. It was locked. I whirled, bringing up the point of the knife.

The couch creaked faintly and Jules said easily. “You should be saving your strength, Laurie.” A lighter flared and his cigaret glowed. “You can’t get out.”

“Unlock this door, Jules.”

The couch creaked again and the red glow of the cigaret moved toward me. I stepped away from the door and held the knife against my waist. I heard his key in the lock, then the door swung open to admit a sliver of light. “Storm’s over, Laurie,” he said in a tired voice.

I turned my back to him and slipped the knife back in the sheath. I unfastened my bra, pulled it into place, and was straining to hook it behind when I felt his hands on mine. “I’ll fix it.”

I whirled and slapped at his hands.
“Get away from me!”

He backed away. I hooked the bra and felt the churning begin in my stomach. “Where’s the restroom?”

“Don’t go, Laurie. I just thought … well, that’s what this place is for, and you wanted to come here.”

I walked to the couch and picked up my purse. “I’ll find it myself.”

“Down the hall and right twice.” I stepped into the hall and he called after me. “Are you coming back, Laurie? I was serious about the play. I’ll back you.”

Down the hall and right twice.
I followed his glib directions and wondered how many times he’d given them. I knew as soon as I stepped inside the door I’d blundered into the wrong room. A dim red light bathed figures on the couch, joined in one confused shape.

“Oh, pardon me,” I said. I heard a smothered grunt as I backed out.

The ladies’ room was next door, a frilly, pink-walled place lined with fluorescent-framed mirrors. Food and drinks were chasing each other around in my stomach. I hurried to a stall and got the lid up just in time. A minute later, the wracking heaves had ended when I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Need your head held, honey?” asked a husky voice.

“No, I’m okay.” I stood up and looked through misty eyes at a woman with short, ash-blonde hair. “Just … had too much all at once.”

“Sure.” She dabbed the corner of my eyes with a handkerchief. “You oughta tell Ace to cut your drinks.” She smiled, revealing deep lines under her heavy make-up. “You can’t last the night if you drink it straight with the customers.”

“Oh, I don’t work here. I’m on a date.”

“Yeah?” Her eyes ran up and down my body. “Honey, I’m glad of that.” She put her hand against my back and ushered me to a chair before a mirror. “Sit and we’ll get you fixed up for your boy friend.” She dampened the hanky and ran it over my cheeks. “Tears raise hell with make-up. Ooooh, somebody busted you in the jaw. You got a rough boy friend, huh?”

I didn’t answer, and she finished with the handkerchief. “Sit still. I’ll get your purse.”

When she brought it, I started powdering my face. She lowered herself two seats away and leaned forward, her hands on her knees. “Not many couples come here, reason I thought you worked here. Thought you might be one of those bright-eyed dolls who thinks she can get into the business for a couple of weeks, buy a few nice clothes or save up for an ocean cruise, then get out.”

She lifted a bourbon bottle from a drawer and raised an eyebrow at me. I hesitated, then nodded. She set out two shot glasses and tipped the bottle. “You’d do okay with that wide-eyed innocent look. We had one like that, only she was blue-eyed and blonde—natural blonde, too. Treated the customers like dirt but they ate it up.” She set the glass at my elbow, full to the brim. “I was glad she left. A guy’d be sitting at the bar, you’d ask if he wanted company, he’d say no, he was waiting for Eileen.”

“
Eileen?
“ I gripped the glass. “A girl my age?”

“A real cold, conceited bitch, wanted all the money in the world.”

“Could be. She was … ambitious.”

“Yeah.” The woman studied me over her glass. “I should’ve put you two together. Both got the same look, so goddam serious, like you’re about to lance a boil and you don’t care how much it hurts.” She threw the drink down her throat. “Where’s angelface laying it now?”

“She’s not working any more.” My drink went down like a twist of steel wool, but I felt better. “Did Eileen have any particular boy friend?”

“They’re all particular.” She held up the bottle and I shook my head. She put it back in the drawer. “No, far as I know, Eileen took them as they came, just like the rest of us.” She stood up. “Damn lucky to make her pile and get out. Not many make it so young. But she had a style.” She patted my cheek. “Don’t you try it,” she said, and turned to go.

“Wait. Did Eileen leave anything here when she left?”

The woman paused in the door and shrugged. “She used that mirror you’re sitting at. Help yourself to a look. I gotta get back to work.” As she opened the door, I saw the softness in her face give way to hard, brittle cheer, like I’d seen on Simone.

I opened the compartment below the shelf and saw the black vanity case inside. My hands were sweating as I opened it. It held the usual things a girl would need for an overnight trip—or to repair her appearance after a session with a customer. Lipstick, comb, powder, skin freshner, cologne, eyebrow pencil, change of underwear—no, more than a change. I found five pairs of panties, each labeled with a day of the week. The set I’d given Eileen was all accounted for except Wednesday; she’d died in the Saturday pair.

There was a picture of me, looking eager and confident in my high school cap and gown, autographed,
to my best friend, from Laurie.
I put it in my purse. At the bottom of the case was a flat, sealed envelope. I tore it open, held it by the edge, and shook out a dozen photos.

The first showed Eileen lying nude on a blanket with one knee raised, hands behind her head. She’d half-closed her eyes and was smiling faintly at the camera. In the second photo, she sprawled in a lounge chair holding a drink, one leg thrown across a glass-topped table. Her lower lip curled out and her eyes looked cold and angry. The next shot was more modest; Eileen poised on a pier about to dive, arms extended in front, tilting her conical breasts upward. The wide porch behind her looked familiar …

I flipped back to the second photo. The same table had appeared in the photo of Jules’ lodge, and the same lounge chair. I ran quickly through the other photos. Three had been shot on the hotel-like veranda, two in a wooded area, the rest on the pier. Most were arty, a few were mildly pornographic. I returned them to the envelope and put it in my purse. Then I replaced the vanity case to the shelf and left.

Five minutes of searching the twisting corridors brought me to the bar. Four women sat at one end; if there were any men, they were hidden in the padded unlit booths that lined the room. But it was still early.

The bartender had a puckered scar, bright pink against his ebony skin. It bisected the empty socket of his right eye from hairline to cheekbone. He said Jules had come soon after midnight, Saturday, and hadn’t left until five. I asked him how he was sure of the time. He said he always remembered big men, and Jules was the biggest man in the county—and he’d be willing to swear to the time in court.

I turned and pushed open the door. I had to squeeze past a couple entering. A gaunt man led, followed by a girl. “Laurie!”

I turned. “Hello, Simone.”

“Wait a minute.” She made a shooing motion at the man. “Go on to the bar, baby-doll. I’ll come for that drink you promised me.” The man went on looking sullen, and Simone giggled. “He couldn’t do a thing after you walked in on us. Don’t you ever knock?”

“Knock?” Then I remembered the twisting limbs in the dim room. “You work here?”

“Only until I get some money together.” She wore a white silk dress that fit her waist like a bandage and dipped low in front. Her right eye was blue and swollen. “I work better when I don’t have to wear clothes and pound a typewriter.”

“You quit the office?”

“Sure.” She saw me looking at her eye. She looked self-conscious and then corrected herself. “No … I’m kidding. Jules booted me out. I reminded him about the dirty water, you know, never throw it out until you have clean water on hand?” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you with him?”

“I came with him, but I’ve probably caused him to change his mind about you.”

“Oh, you didn’t …?” She studied me a moment, then smiled. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“He’s in one of those private dining rooms, but I don’t know—”

“I do. It’s always the same one, best room in the place.” She smiled and patted my arm. “It should be, he owns the place.” Then she turned, and her heels clattered swiftly down the hall.

The place had seemed sordid before; now I felt as though I’d wandered into a snake pit. I hurried into the parking lot and crawled into Richard’s car. He wasn’t in sight, and each passing minute drew my nerves tighter.

I jumped as something moved behind me. I turned to find Goldie curled on the back seat, asleep. She must have found Rich hiding in the willows.

Just then a hoarse shout sounded in the center of the lot. “Hey! Come back here!”

I turned as Rich pounded up and jerked the door open. He slid under the wheel and stabbed the starter. “Hang on!”

The car roared back, then forward. Gravel sprayed as we raced through the lot. A short man in a leather cap ran into the drive waving a metal bar. Rich headed straight toward him. The man jumped back and threw the bar. I saw it land in the road behind us.

Six turns and three dirt roads later, Rich bounced into a rutted lane under some cottonwoods and stopped. He cut the motor and exploded into laughter. “Sorry,” he gasped. “Tell you … a minute.” He put his forehead against the wheel and laughed.

When he spoke again his voice was sober. “Helluva strain, searching a car with guys peeking over your shoulder.” He took a deep breath. “I knew I couldn’t do anything in that lot without being seen. So I watched this attendant make his rounds, peeking into all the cars. I stood outside Curtright’s car when he passed, running my hands through my pockets and kicking the gravel. He watched for a few minutes than asked, ‘Whatcha lookin’ faw?’ I knew I had a real bright lad. ‘Car keys,’ I said. So he, thinking probably a guy with a car like that was good for a fat tip, helps me look. We lifted up the floor mat, seats, everything. Finally I said I must’ve left it in the trunk, and maybe I could spring it open if I had a tire iron. So he gets one. While we were prying the other attendant came up and started giving advice. Then his jaw dropped down to his navel. ‘Hey, this is Mister Curtright’s car!’ I hit him in the belly with the tire iron and ran.” He chuckled. “Curtright must be a steady customer if they knew his car.”