Ed McBain: Cinderella

...of getting away for at least a weekend.

I don’t know, Rita. I’ll have to see.

I don’t want to force you into doing anything you don’t want to—

You’re not forcing me into—

It’s just...

That’s the thing of it.

Meeting here all the time.

I know.

Silence.

Matthew listened.

Suddenly:

Mmm.

Yeah.

And another long silence.

He guessed they were kissing.

The silence lengthened. Then:

Don’t you think I want to get away?

I know you do, Dan.

Take this off, okay? But I don’t have the kind of job...

I know.

Some guys travel all the time, you know.

It’s difficult for you, I know.

Guys in sales...

They go all over, I know.

The bra, too.

I’m not saying we should go away for two, three weeks...

Two, three...?

I know, did I...?

Impossible.

Did I say two, three weeks?

Two, three weeks, whoo.

Impossible, I know.

Impossible.

I said a weekend is what I said.

Another silence.

Matthew listened.

Murmurs on the tape.

Then:

God, you’re gorgeous.

Silence again.

Then the woman’s voice:

Ooooo, yes.

And more silence.

Matthew sighed.

Careful, they’re a little sore.

Sorry.

I’m about to get my period.

Silence.

Then the man’s voice:

I’d better take these pants off.

Yeah.

Don’t want to go home wrinkled.

That’s what I mean.

What do you mean?

About a weekend.

Yeah, what?

All I’m asking is a weekend.

I know that. Look, if I had Freddie’s job—

Because if we went away, you wouldn’t have to worry about getting wrinkled or getting lipstick on you or smelling of perfume or—

Away three, four months out of the year, Freddie.

Yeah, but you haven’t.

I know I haven’t. Los Angeles, Houston, Phoenix.

Sure, that’d be ideal.

You could meet me anywhere.

Maybe I oughta give Freddie a call, huh?

Oh, sure.

Meet him in Los Angeles sometime.

Yeah, sure.

Silence.

Then the woman’s voice:

Oh my, where’d that come from?

You like that, hmm?

I love it. Bring it over here.

The creak of bed springs.

Mmmm.

And again... silence.

Matthew looked at the charcoal drawings of the nudes. He looked at Otto’s framed license. He looked at the bank building across the street. He listened to the sounds coming from the recorder. Suddenly—

Nettington’s voice:

Don’t stop, Rita.

And more sounds.

Deeper, honey.

And heavy breathing.

That’s it.

And a gasp.

Jesus. Oh, Jesus. Oh, God.

And a moan.

And a sigh.

And silence.

The tape kept unreeling.

Silence.

Another sigh. Heavier.

Then Rita again:

Was that good, baby?

Nobody does that like you.

How about Carla?

Make me so fuckin’—

How about your wife, baby?

— big.

Mmm.

Silence.

Matthew listened.

You want a cigarette?

Please. What do you think of the Fourth?

The sound of a match striking.

Someone exhaling.

Thanks.

Let me get an ashtray.

For our weekend. The Fourth falls on a Friday this year.

Silence.

Then Nettington’s voice, distant at first:

I don’t think we ought to...

And then coming closer, probably as he carried an ashtray back to the bed:

...take any chances right now.

We could leave late Thursday night, come back late Sunday.

Too risky.

Be a nice long weekend, Dan.

Not right now. I think she’s getting suspicious.

Oh?

Yeah, I think she suspects some...

What makes you...?

Just a feeling.

Has she said anything?

No, no.

Anyway, who gives a fuck, actually?

Well, I don’t want to...

I mean, I just don’t give a fuck if she knows or she doesn’t know.

This isn’t the right time, that’s all. I just don’t want her to find out right now, that’s all.

When is the right time, Dan?

Not now. If we’re gonna do this, we have to prepare for it.

Sure, prepare.

Otherwise she walks off with everything I’ve got.

You’ll never be ready to leave her.

That’s not true, Rita.

It’s true. You can’t take me away for a weekend, you’re going to leave her?

Well...

You can’t even take me out to dinner .

Not right now, Rita.

I must be dreaming.

It’s too dangerous right now.

Why? If she hasn’t said anything...

She hasn’t, but...

Then what makes you think...?

Just a feeling. I thought I saw somebody.

What do you mean?

I don’t know. Just a feeling.

You saw somebody? Here? Tonight?

I’m not even sure.

But here?

No. The past couple of days. Just a feeling.

Silence.

Then:

I don’t want to get caught, Rita.

We won’t get caught.

I don’t want to.

We won’t.

A deep sigh. Silence.

Matthew listened.

How much time have we got?

The woman. No answer from Nettington.

Dan?

Mmm.

What are you doing there?

Looking.

At what?

That car across the street. Was it here when I got here?

What car?

Across the street.

What kind of car?

I can’t tell from here.

Well, what color is it?

Blue? Green? Come take a look.

I don’t want to take a look.

Does anybody across the street own a blue car? Or a green one?

I don’t know what they own. What time do you have to leave?

I’ve got an hour or so.

Then come here.

Silence.

The tape unreeled.

There were only sounds on it now.

Harsh breathing.

Rita moaning.

And at last:

Oh, Jesus, give it to me!

And she screamed.

And the tape ended.

At three o'clock that Monday afternoon, the Cubans who’d been looking for Alice Carmody finally found her. One of the Cubans asked her, “Where’s Jody?” but his accent was so thick that Alice didn’t know who he meant at first. She said, “Who?” and he smacked her.

She thought Boy, what a shame it is, these fucking spics taking over Miami Beach, next thing you know they’ll be taking over Kansas. She didn’t even know where Kansas was. She was in a cheap hotel on Collins and Sixth, that’s where Alice was when they found her. Alice was a junkie, and she hadn’t had a fix since ten o’clock this morning, and they were asking her questions she couldn’t understand, these two fuckin’ spics.

“You seest’,” one of them said.

“What?” Alice said.

“ Tu hermana ,” the other one said.

Alice gathered he didn’t speak English, the other one. Fuckin’ spic, she thought, and he smacked her, as if he could read her mind. He said something in rapid-fire Spanish to the one who spoke English. Must’ve been three thousand words he spewed at him, but all Alice caught was the name Ernesto. She figured the one who spoke English — not that he’d get a prize, but at least it was English — was named Ernesto. The greaseball she didn’t know his name yet.

Ernesto said, “Listen, okay?”

“I’m listening,” she said.

“Wha’ we wann to know ees where ees you seest’.”

“My what? ” she said.

“You seest’, you seest’,” he said, patiently.

“Oh,” Alice said.

“Ah,” he said.

“My sister , you mean?”

“Ah,” he said, and spread his arms wide to the greaseball.