Donald Westlake - The New Black Mask ( No 3 )

But I didn’t think of that then. All I could think of was drawing her down into my arms and holding her tight and trying to pet away her sadness.

“You won’t like me anymore, now,” she sobbed brokenheartedly. “You think I’m awful, now. You think I’m not a nice girl, now…” And so on, until I thought my heart was breaking, too.

“Please, please don’t cry, darling,” I pleaded. “Please don’t, baby girl. Of course I like you. Of course I think you’re a nice girl. Of course I think — I don’t think you’re awful.”

But she continued to weep and sob. Oh, she didn’t blame me. Not for a moment! She knew I was married, so it was all her fault. But men never did like you afterwards. There was this intern, and she’d liked him a lot and he’d kept after her, and finally she’d done it with him. And he’d told everyone in this hospital that she did it, and they’d all laughed and thought she was awful. Then there was this obstetrician she d worked for, a wonderfully sweet, considerate man — but after she did it with him a while, he must have thought she was awful (and not very nice, either) because he decided not to get a divorce after all. Then there was this—

“Well, pee on all of them!” I broke in. “Doing it is one of the very nicest things girls do, and any guy who wouldn’t treat her nice afterwards would doubtless eat dog hockey in Hammacher Schlemmer’s side window.”

She giggled, then sniffled and giggled simultaneously. She asked if she could ask me something, and then she asked it.

“Would you — I know you can’t, because you’re already married — but would you, if you weren’t? I mean, you wouldn’t think I was too awful to marry, just because I did it?”

“You asked me something, my precious love pot,” I said, “so let me tell you something. If I was not married — and please note that I use the verb ‘was,’ not were,’ since ‘were’ connotes the wildly impractical or impossible, as in ‘If I were you,’ and no one but a pretentious damned fool would say, ‘If I were not married’ because that’s not only possible but, in my case, a lousy actuality. But, uh, what was the question?”

“Would you marry me if you were not — I mean, was not — already married?”

“The answer is absotively, and, look, dear. ‘Were’ is proper when prefixed by the pronoun ‘you.’ That’s one of those exceptions—”

“You really would, Britt? Honestly? You wouldn’t think I was too awful to marry?”

“Let me put it this way, my dearest dear,” I said. “I would not only marry you, and consider myself the luckiest and most honored of men, but after God’s blessing had been called down upon our union and the minister had given me permission to raise your bridal veil, I would raise your bridal gown instead, and I would shower kisses of gratitude all over your cute little butt.”

She heaved a great shuddery sigh. Then, her head resting cozily against my chest, she asked had I really meant what I had said.

“My God,” I said indignantly, “would I make such a statement if I didn’t mean it?”

“I mean, honest and truly.”

“Oh,” I said. “So that’s what you mean.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I cannot tell a lie,” I said. “Thus, my answer must be, yes: honest and truly, and a pail of wild honey with brown sugar on it.”

She fell asleep in my arms, the untroubled sleep of an innocent child; and flights of angels must have guided her into it, for her smile was the smile of heaven’s own.

I brushed my lips against her hair, thinking that everyone should know such peace and happiness. Wondering why they didn’t when it was so easily managed. The ingredients were to be found in everyone’s cupboard, or the cupboard which everyone is, and you could put them together as easily as you could button your britches. All that was necessary was to combine any good brand of kindness and any standard type of goodwill, plus a generous dab of love; then, shake well and serve. There you had peace and happiness — beautifully personified by this sleeping angel in my arms.

Without disturbing her, I shifted my position ever so slightly, and I took another look at her.

And I thought: I have seen Manny sleep like this, too. Manny, who thus far has done everything but kill me and doubtless plans to do just that.

Then, I thought: Connie looked thus also, for God’s sake! The homeliest, scrawniest broad in the world has at least a moment of surpassing beauty, else a majority of the world’s female population would go unscrewed and unmarried. And I thought that Connie would probably like to kill me, and quite likely would do so if she knew how to safely wangle it.

And I thought: And how about Kay, this lovely child? For all I know about her — or DON’T know about her — she, too, could have my murder on her mind. Yea, verily, even while screwing me, she could be plotting my slaughter. Perhaps she would see my death as atonement for her misuse by guys who had used her. Guys who thought she was awful and not a nice girl just because she did it.

Finally, in that prescient moment preceding sleep, I thought: Congratulations, Rainstar. You have done it again. A very small puddle was in your path, one that you could have walked through without dampening your shoe soles. Yet you shrank — you chronic shrinker! — from even that small hazard. You must spring over the literal wet spot in your walkway, and that mess you came down in on the other side was definitely not a beehive.

Manny came out to the house the next day.

She looked very beautiful. Her illness has left her even lovelier than she had been, and… But I believe we’ve already covered that. So let us move on.

I was naturally pretty wary, and she also was on guard. We exchanged greetings stiffishly, and moved on to a stilted exchange of conversational banalities. With that behind us, I think we were on the point of breaking the ice when Kay popped in with the coffee service. She declared brightly that she just knew that we two convalescents would feel better after a good cup of coffee, and she poured and passed a cup to each of us.

Manny barely tasted hers, and said it was very good.

I tasted mine, and also lied about it.

Kay said she would just wait until we finished it, by which time doubtless, since I was not feeling very well, Miss Aloe would want to leave. Manny promptly put her cup down, and stood up.

“I’ll leave right now, Britt. It was thoughtless of me to come out so soon, so—”

“Sit down,” I said. “I am quite well, and I’m sure that neither of us wants any more of this coffee. So please remove it, Miss Nolton, and leave Miss Aloe and me to conduct our business in private.”

Manny said timidly that she would be glad to come back another time. But I told her again to sit down, and she sat. Kay snatched up the coffee things and dumped to the door. She turned around there, addressing me with sorrowful reproach.

“I was just doing my job, Mr. Rainstar. I’m responsible for your health, you know.”

“I know,” I said, “and I’m grateful.”

“It would be easier for me if I wasn’t so conscientious. My salary would be the same, and it would be a lot easier for me, if I didn’t do—”

“I’d better leave,” said Manny, picking up her purse.

“And I think you’d better not!” I said. “I think Miss Nolton had better leave — right this minute!”

Kay left, slamming the door behind her. I smiled apologetically at Manny.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “She’s a very nice young woman, and she’s very good at her job. But sometimes…”

“Mmm. I’ll just bet she is!” Manny said, and then, with a small diffident gesture, “I want to tell you something, and it’s, well, not easy for me. Could you come a little closer, please?”