Evan Hunter - Candyland

The face in the mirror startles him.

His left eye is swollen almost shut, encircled with puffy flesh bruised Yellow and purple and blue. There is a cut on his right cheek and blood Crusted inside his nose and under it. His upper lip is swollen and cracked. There is a black gap at the front of his mouth where two teeth he been knocked out.

He stands looking at himself.

Who are you? he wonders.

Jesus, who the hell are you?

"Something, huh?" she says.

As she turns on the faucets in the tub, he keeps staring at himself in the mirror. The cat rubs against his leg. In the other room, he can hear the cockatoo screaming. Steam begins filling the bathroom. The face of the stranger in the mirror begins to cloud over. He wants to cry again.

She soaps him gently. The water turns pinkish when she sponges away blood stains, gently patting, lightly rubbing.

“What's your name?" she asks.

He almost says Michael.

"Ben," he says.

“You really lost this one, Ben."

"Yes."

"How many was they?"

He shakes his head.

"Beat you up, took all yo money. You had a big night, Ben."

Sponges him in silence for several moments. She has rolled up the sleeves of the purple silk blouse. Her arms are round and firm and brown. There is a small tattoo near her left wrist. Some kind of bird. or insect. He can't quite make it out.

"Where was you, to run into such types?" she asks.

He closes his eyes.

"Mm-huh," she says knowingly. "You here visiting New York, Ben?”

He nods.

"Out havin youself a good time?"

He says nothing. Keeps his eyes closed.

"You got nothin to hide from me, Ben," she says. "I been hooking since I was sixteen.”

He still says nothing.

"You goan drown here if I leave you alone a minute?"

He shakes his head.

"You need me, just yell."

He nods. In the other room, the cockatoo shrieks to welcome her arrival. He lies in the warm water, his eyes closed, feeling every aching muscle and bone where the steps and the black man punished him. Steam rises everywhere around him. He feels himself relaxing.

He dozes.

"You bout ready to come out?" she asks, startling him.

He opens his eyes.

She is holding a large white beach towel in her widespread arms, He climbs out of the tub, and she enfolds him in the towel like one of the children in Fellini's 81/2 . He closes his eyes again.

"Just so we understand each other," she says, rubbing him. patting him dry, "if you plan on having any sex here, it'll coss you a hundred bucks."

"I don't have a hundred bucks," he says.

"You have five hundred," she says. "In travelers checks."

"I see."

"That's right," she says. "I looked thu your wallet. just in case."

"I see," he says again.

“Cause I figure you for a man familiar with the ways of the world," she explains.

“Uh-huh."

"All I'm sayin is the tub and a cup of coffee's on me. But if you're lookin for anythin else, it'll coss you. You unnerstan whut I'm sayin?"

"Okay."

"Does that mean you're interested?"

"It means I understand what you're saying."

"Let me see I can find something for you to put on," she says, and leaves him wrapped in the towel and goes out into the other room again. The cockatoo does his little song and dance again, it's an act they have. Somehow, he feels a bit disappointed in her, he doesn't know why. He looks at himself in the mirror again. There is not appreciable movement over what he saw the last time around. He wonders how go back to Los Angeles looking like this. He lifts his wrist to see time it is, but his watch is gone. He tries to remember whether he it off before getting into the tub, but he wouldn't have because it's a waterproof Rolex he bought on Rodeo Drive, did those sons of take his watch, too? But he didn't hear them saying anything about a watch, could they have missed the watch? The dial is black, they have missed it in the dark? Or did Little Miss Peek-In-the wallet here remove it from his wrist while she was undressing him, and it in her sugar bowl, he will have to ask her. You didn't happen to see a little Rolex worth close to five grand, did you? I wouldn't ask, but sentimental value. I bought it for myself the first time I had a in Architectural Digest, you see, so if you happen to know where I really would appreciate having it back, together with that cup of you promised.

“You can put on these," she says, and hands him a cleanly pressed blue denim a pair of jockey shorts smelling of soap, and a pair of faded blue washed and pressed. He thinks these may be clothes that belong pimp. He can visualize her pimp strutting around the apartment in them. He can visualize her pimp coming home sometime later to find Ben sitting in his favorite chair, wearing his nice pimp blue jeans and cans and shirt. Ben's every instinct tells him to get the hell out of here as soon as he can, go back to the hotel, explain to the night clerk that he just got hit by a bus, pack his bag, pay his bill, and go straight to the airport.

"Coffee?" she calls. "Yes? No?"

"Yes, please."

The clothes fit him a trifle snugly, but that's only because he had a few drinks and a big dinner, otherwise he can match his physique against any pimp's in the world. He comes out of the bathroom, and into what he now sees is a small living room furnished like a Turkish bordello, with the patterned rug on the floor, and the cockatoo perch in the corner, and mirrored throw pillows everywhere, and beaded curtains on one door leading to what he guesses is the bedroom, and beaded curtains on another door leading to what he can see is the kitchen, the woman there standing at the stove, looking at a coffee pot, He parts the curtains. She has taken off the silk blouse and is now wearing only the purple leather skirt, the matching heels, and a black bra, There is another tattoo, he notices, near the bra strap on her right shoulder, which he recognizes as a larger version of the one near her wrist. He tries to remember what you call these things, James Bond had one in bed with him one time, didn't he, these brown insects, he guesses they are — scorpions! A blue scorpion near her wrist, a red one w her shoulder. There is something enormously intimate about seeing her this way. As if he has caught her quite by accident, surprising her only partially dressed this way although she doesn't seem a bit surprised as she turns from the stove and smiles.

"Be hot in just a second," she says. "I don't have decaf, is regular okay?"

"Sure. Uh, you didn't happen to see my watch anywhere, did you?” he asks.

"On the counter near the lamp," she says. "How do you take it?"

"Light. One sugar."

He spots his watch on the counter, moves toward it, and backs away the cockatoo starts shrieking at him.

“Just tell him to shut up," she says.

He picks up the watch, gingerly, and backs away from the perch. He snap the watch on, and rolls up the cuffs on the blue denim shirt. In the pimp threads, he feels almost pimpish himself. Puts on a pimp strut into the kitchen. Pats the woman on the ass where she stands at the stove.

“Hey," she says. "That could start the meter running."

“Would you like to start the meter running?" he asks playfully.

“Depends on you," she says, and shrugs.

“You take travelers checks?"

“I even take green stamps," she says, and grins. "You get it?" she shrugs.

“I get it," he says, and pats her on the ass again.

“Hey, I m serious," she says. "You want to start foolin around here, it is the bread up front."

“I may want to start fooling around, who knows?" he says. "But let's have the coffee first, okay?"

He likes the idea of having coffee with her. There's something very intimate about the idea. He even likes the idea of her calling it "fooling around" now that she's in her bra cooking at the stove, instead of what Fatima had called it, "fucking." Or would you rather fuck me in the ass? Sounding exactly like a hooker. Well, this one's a hooker, too, no matter how daintily demure she may sound. She's made that quite plain, she's been a hooker since she was sixteen, and what is she now? 35? Thirty-six? Even her age is comforting somehow. There's something very comforting and intimate and warm about a thirty-six year old woman standing in her bra, in her own kitchen, waiting for the coffee to heat up, while he watches her. Unembarrassed while he watches her. Comfortable with him standing there watching her in her bra and her short skirt. He suddenly feels very much better than he did an hour or so ago. He looks at his watch.