Флетчер Флора - Leave Her to Hell

“Not at all. Make yourself at home.”

I removed the coat and tossed it into a chair that was already occupied by mink. The mink and worn tweed didn’t look very compatible. They looked as if someone were slumming. Leaving them together in a state of precarious tolerance, I went into the bathroom and splashed my face with cold water. When I returned, Robin had shifted sidewise on the sofa and had drawn her feet up under her neat behind, leaving her nylon knees out. I went over and sat on the sofa beside her.

“You have nice knees,” I said.

“Do you like them?” She bent over from the hips to examine them for a moment. “One of them has a dimple when I’m standing.”

“Only one? That’s tough.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think it makes them rather intriguing for one to have a dimple and the other not.”

“You’re probably right. The next time you’re standing, remind me to look and see.”

Her plain eye and her decorated eye moved slowly around the room together. It was a homely room, even a shabby room, but it had in it a few things I liked. And sometimes, when I was reading at night or lying in bed, it seemed like home and a good place to be. Now, with her in it, it had color and light and warmth and a sense of excitement. To me, that is. To her it was palpably nothing much. Her eyes moved slowly from one thing to another and were finally arrested by a picture of some olive trees. I had bought it in a second-hand shop one rainy afternoon when I had felt the need of something pleasant to look at.

“What’s that?” she said.

“It’s a picture of some olive trees.”

“Is that what they are? I like them.”

“So do I. Maybe it’s a sign that we have an affinity or something.”

“It’s possible. I admit that you appeal to me in a peculiar way. Is it supposed to be a good picture?”

“It’s a bad print of a good picture. The original was painted by a Dutchman named Van Gogh. He was nuts. He cut off one of his own ears.”

“He must have been nuts in a nice way to have painted such trees.”

“Sure. In a nice way. The same way I’m ugly.”

“That’s right.” She looked at me briefly with her black eye. “Your room is interesting as a change, but it’s really a dump. Can’t you actually afford any better?”

“I sort of like it,” I said. “What can you expect from a guy who wears ready-made suits?”

“Aren’t you sometimes depressed by living here?”

“I’d be sometimes depressed no matter where I lived. You’re under no obligation to stay, incidentally, if you find it intolerable. As a matter of fact, you were under no obligation to come, and I wonder why you did.”

If she heard me, she gave no sign of it. Her eyes moved away from the cheap Van Gogh print and hung up on Jim Beam.

“Are you saving that for something special?”

“Sure,” I said. “For you.”

“Good. I’ll have some right now, if you don’t mind.”

“There’s no ice.”

“That’s all right. I’ll have it straight.” I got up and went into the bathroom and got a couple of tumblers off the back edge of the lavatory. I rinsed them in hot water and carried them back into the room. Opening Jim Beam, I poured about three ounces into both tumblers and handed one of them to Robin. She took a stout swallow and held her breath for a few seconds afterward and released the breath slowly. I sat down beside her again, almost brushing the nylon knees, and she lifted the tumbler until it was touching her sulky mouth and looked at me levelly over the rim. She was a tough and accomplished little charmer, all right, and I enjoyed playing the casual game we were playing together. But I was also bruised and worried, if not scared, and I thought it was probably getting time for business.

“Look, honey,” I said. “You’re smart, and you’re beautiful, and any man in his right mind would be tickled to death to have you break into his room any old time, and that’s what I am. I’m tickled to death. I’d like to believe that you did it because I’m a guy you just can’t resist. But I’m not, and you didn’t, so there’s no use wasting time on that one. Suppose you tell me the real reason in simple words, and I’ll listen and maybe understand. I might even believe you.”

Her petulant little mouth curved slowly and slyly in a smile that was reflected in her smoky eyes, and she leaned forward deliberately from the hips and put the mouth on mine, and it was soft and inciting and still smiling all the while. I didn’t retreat or advance or attempt to evade. For a few seconds I managed an overt passivity that was a covert lie, but a reasonable limit is placed on passivity by glands and such, and finally I reached for her and held her and felt in my hands the vibration of her body in its thin black sheath. Her mouth opened and stopped smiling. Her breath caught in her throat. She forgot her glass and spilled bourbon on the rug. After a while, with a pleased little mew, she leaned back in her corner and closed her eyes and began again smiling slyly.

“Maybe you underestimate yourself,” she said. “Maybe you’re a guy I just can’t resist.”

“Really? How do I compare with Regis Lawler?”

“Regis was a handsome heel. You’re an ugly touch. In time, I think, I could learn to like you better.”

“I know. It’s worth developing.”

“That’s it.” She opened her eyes and looked at me through the lashes. “I told you that, and you walked out on me. You hurt my feelings.”

“Sorry. I thought you were trifling with me. I’m a lad who doesn’t like being trifled with.”

“Sure. Poor and proud. We’ve been through that.”

“So we have. There’s something else we’ve been through too. Both of us. It happened right after the other time we got together, and it was painful. Do you suppose this little session will have the same result? I wouldn’t want it to become a habit.”

“Don’t worry. Silas was still in the office when I left, and Darcy was tailing you. No one knows where I went. Do you have a cigarette?”

I gave her one and lit it. She inhaled deeply and blew out a long thin plume through pursed lips.

“Did you know that Darcy was tailing you?” she said.

“That’s one of the reasons I came. To tell you that.”

“Thanks. If that’s true, aren’t you running quite a risk being here? It poses a problem.”

“I don’t think so. How could he have followed me if he was following you? Even Darcy can’t be two places at the same time.”

“I didn’t mean when you came. I meant when you leave. If he’s got the place under observation, how the hell do you expect to get away without being seen?”

“Oh, it isn’t likely that he’ll spend the night in the street. Once he’s certain you’re bedded down, he’ll probably go home and pick you up again tomorrow. However, I admit there’s an element of risk, and I’ve been thinking about it. In order to take no chance at all, I’ve decided to stay here until morning. If Darcy’s waiting outside then, he’ll follow you away when you leave, and I can leave later without any risk whatever.”

I drained my tumbler of Jim Beam and walked over for more. My legs felt rubbery, and there was in my head a peculiar lightness. It was not Jim that caused this. Nor bruises nor fatigue nor the cumulative effect of a long and difficult day. It was Robin who caused it. Her casual assumptions and propositions demanded quick and tricky adjustments, and she was, too frequently, too much in effect like a sharp inside belt to the belly.

“You seem to have thought this out very carefully,” I said.

“It didn’t require much thought,” she said. “To be honest, it’s something I want to do anyhow, so it worked out naturally.”