S is for Silence (Kinsey Millhone 19)

“Wait, wait, wait. Let’s just think. No need to do anything rash. Look, how about this? I can rent you an apartment in Santa Teresa… under a fake name. You don’t like that idea, we’ll take off together and settle someplace else. I’d do that for you, I swear.”

She smiled and shook her head. “That’s your solution? You got a great imagination. I gotta hand it to you.” She found her brassiere and hooked herself into it. She bent over and maneuvered her breasts, arranging each in its cup. She retrieved her underpants and stepped into them. She settled her dress over her head and zipped herself up. This was a strip show in reverse. She came back as far as the bed table where she took a cigarette from his pack and tamped it on her thumbnail. “Look at this joint. They don’t even provide a friggin’ pack of matches. Can you give me a light?”

Numb, he flicked his lighter and watched her lean toward the flame, holding her hair out of the way. She took a drag, inhaled, and blew a stream of smoke at the ceiling. “Thanks.” She took the ashtray and her purse and went into the bathroom. Through the open doorway, he could see her putting on her face.

He followed as far as the door and caught her reflection in the mirror. “You’re telling me it’s over.”

“ That’s right. No offense, but let’s bail while we can.”

He was silent for almost a full minute, while he thought about the last three days. “You did it for the car, didn’t you?”

Her mouth came open and she turned. “You said, what?”

“This was all so you could get the car and now that you have it, you’re finished with me.”

“Are you saying that I fucked you to get a car?! Thanks so much. What kind of whore does that make me? You’re the one telling me not to talk shit about myself, and listen to the shit that comes out of your mouth.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry-”

“If you’re so sorry then why don’t you quit pushing me around?” Abruptly she went back to her lipstick, following the outline of her mouth. “You want to be a bully, take a number and get in line. When it comes to abuse, Foley’s got it all over you.”

“Are you crazy? You’re crazy. Don’t stand there bragging about how bad the guy treats you. I came here prepared to offer you a life.”

“Listen, Buster, I have a life. Might not look like much to you, but I’m doing the best I can so don’t you condescend to me.”

“Violet… don’t.” He tried to speak, but his throat closed and his voice cracked.

“Jesus, Chet. Be a big boy about this. It’s been great, but let’s face facts. It’s sex. Right now, it might be firecracker hot, but how long does that last? In two months it’s gone, so don’t make more of it than it is. You’re not going to run off with me. You’re full of shit.”

Chet took the last drag of his cigarette and flipped it out the window. He took one more pull from his flask and put that away. The tractor and flatbed, deck empty now, passed him again, heading back toward the 166. On the Tanner property, the bright yellow bulldozer sat with two others, looking as big as a tank. He hadn’t been on a bulldozer since he was eighteen years old, that ball-busting summer before his father had been killed. He’d worked construction, thinking he could set aside some cash for his freshman year of college. Nowadays the union trained guys to operate heavy equipment, but in those days, you got on a dozer, fired it up, and hoped you wouldn’t drive yourself into a ditch.

He turned the key in the ignition and released the T of the emergency brake. He made a U-turn across the two lanes of deserted road. What he’d been through with Violet was the equivalent of a three-year affair compressed into three days. Beginning, middle, and end. Over and out. He couldn’t help thinking she’d made a bigger fool of him than he knew. He’d been set up, duped. She wanted the car. It was obvious now, but she’d played him well and he half-admired her finesse. She’d crooked her little finger and he’d scampered after her, as frisky as a pup. He didn’t feel it yet, the shame, but he would very soon, once the liquor wore off. He knew his humiliation was commiserate with his joy, but the joy had been fleeting while the rage would burn at his core like the fire in the bowels of a coal mine, year after year. What wounded him was knowing she felt none of his pain. Now every time he saw the car, every time Foley made a payment, he’d cringe, feeling powerless and small. He’d go home to Livia and that would be that. His life had been barely tolerable before, but what would it be like now that he knew the difference?