Джонатан Келлерман - Night Moves

“That’s not clear, yet. And even if it was, I’m sorry, I couldn’t give details.”

“One-way street, huh? No problem, I don’t really care about him. Just making conversation.”

She picked at her salad. I drank coffee. The hipster left with his cellphone. The old wag watched and said, “All that ink on him, a wawking hi-ro-glyphic.” Lucy laughed. The old woman got oatmeal on her face and wiped it away.

I said, “So you and Trevor were—”

“An item, yes we were,” said Maillot Bernard. “When I first met him, he ticked off some serious boxes. Handsome, super-talented. Rich, too, that never hurts. But it was mostly his acceptance. Of me. After I got out of the hospital I was feeling maimed and deformed and he didn’t care, he really didn’t.”

Another pat of her chest.

“I was upfront with Trevor, after I got maimed, that was my approach, put it on the line right away, expect them to bail. Most men did. Trevor didn’t. He said he liked me the way I was. I think he meant it, but who knows?”

“How’d you meet?”

“Where else? A party, don’t ask where, who threw it, whatever, because I have no idea. I was in serious pain and taking serious painkillers, a lot back then is a blur. All I can tell you is one of those parties that seem to crop up, you get invited but can’t figure out why. I do remember it being in some incredible house — maybe Pacific Heights?”

Shrugging. “Amazing mansion, amazing drugs for anyone who wanted them: coke, pills, heroin, of course weed, weed was like cocktails, they served doobies on silver trays. I arrived already grokked out, only did weed. It was good stuff and it totally downed me and I shrank off to a corner and just sat there. I must’ve fallen asleep because I woke up and found this tall good-looking guy in a blazer and of all things an ascot, standing over me, smiling. Like he cared.”

She lifted another bacon filament with her fingers. Murmured, “Bison, low fat, calories like halibut,” nibbled half a thread, put the rest back atop the salad. “An ascot, when’s the last time you saw one of those except in a British movie? I thought I was dreaming, some duke had appeared, was going to say something with an accent and take me off in his Rolls-Royce. He sat down next to me, asked if I was okay without an accent, and we started talking and I didn’t wake up. So I realized I was already awake. Am I making sense?”

“Total sense.”

“I hope you’re right.” She glanced over at Lucy. “Can you pack this up, Angela?”

“You bet.” The waitress came over, picked up the bowl, shot me a conspiratorial glance. This is what she always does.

When she left, Maillot Bernard said, “Where was I?”

“You realized you were awake.”

“Yes. He was very nice. Soft-spoken, offered to drive me home and I said sure. He didn’t have a Rolls but he did have a nice Jaguar and he walked me to my door, didn’t try anything. So of course I said yes when he asked for my number. I’m a yes-girl, in general, always had trouble with no. It’s made life hard but I’d still rather be that way.”

“Keeping it positive.”

“Keeping it obedient, Doctor.” She sighed. “Okay, full disclosure: I’m a submissive. I hope you don’t find that psychiatric or anything.”

“Different strokes,” I said. “Long as you stay safe.”

“I didn’t always pay enough attention to safety but I do now. If you’re thinking Trevor was a dominant and that’s why we hooked up, he wasn’t. He was a normal. In that regard, anyway. No control issues but I still liked him. Maybe it was because of the gold piano.”

I sat there.

“Of course you’d have no idea,” she said. “Okay, one of the clubs, there was this gold piano hooked up to pulleys. A girl would sit on it and they’d lower her to the stage while she stripped.” Smiling. “We were the showpieces. Served up like a meal. Anyway, one of the bouncers used to have a thing for me and one time I stayed late with him and he wanted to... use the piano for you-know-what. I said sure but while we were doing it, Billy — that was his name — must’ve triggered a switch and the piano started climbing toward the ceiling. By the time we realized what was happening, it was pushing up close to the ceiling. Billy was a big guy, like a football player, and he got crushed between the piano and ceiling until I finally figured out where the switch was. He didn’t die but he broke a lot of things inside and got crippled. Only reason I was okay is I was a lot skinnier than him so all the crushing was happening to him.”

She pinged a bitten nail against her mug. “After that, I decided always to be skinny. The piano freaked me out, I didn’t go back to the club, wanted a different environment so I started teaching little girls ballet for crap money. I lost my apartment, had to room with some... not-so-great people. It was around then that I met Trevor. No control issues with regard to you-know-what. In fact, he wasn’t much into it, period.”

“Asexual?”

“More like super-low-sexual. Which was fine with me. My body the way it was, the pain, feeling deformed, last thing I wanted was someone jumping my bones.”

She smiled. “Top of that, he had an amazing house. Victorian that he restored, close enough to the wharf to walk. At the time I thought he was my savior.”

“That changed.”

She looked out the window, watched cars pass for a while. “It’s the same old story, I’m sure you hear it all the time. Especially working for the police.”

“Not sure what you mean.”

“Relationships,” she said. “They go bad. With Trevor it wasn’t dramatic, it just crept in. He got more and more possessive. Not physically, just — okay, here’s the thing: We never went anywhere, which was fine with me in the beginning. I was happy to have a refuge. And his house was big, beautiful, and quiet. Trevor drew all day, then he slept, then he drew some more, then he slept. At first, I didn’t mind.”

“What changed?”

“I got bored,” she said. “Felt like getting out. Just once in a while, maybe start teaching kids again — ’cause I’d quit that job. All I was doing was watching TV and videos of dance exercises. I ended up sleeping a lot, myself, and it made me tired. So I asked Trevor if I could go out for a while and he said don’t do it, I was vulnerable. I wasn’t ready to stress myself out, so I agreed. Then I started doing it — sneaking out when I knew Trevor would be locked up in his studio. Nothing weird, I took walks. It felt like I landed on another planet. I liked the feeling. But then I’d rush back, afraid he’d find out.”

I said, “Sounds a little like prison.”

“I guess it does,” said Maillot Bernard. “I guess it was. One night, late at night, Trevor was doing one of his marathon drawing things. Even when he came out of the studio, he’d been super-quiet, ignoring me when I talked to him. So I went out and took a longer walk than ever and when I got back he was in the doorway, just standing there, no expression on his face. I thought, He’s not going to allow me back. But then he stepped aside. And once I was inside, his face got different.”

“Angry?”

“No, that’s the thing, angry I could understand. I was raised with it.” Lowering her eyes. “But that’s another story... no, Trevor didn’t show angry, he just got cold. Like I was there, in his house physically, but I didn’t matter spiritually — humanly.”

“Dismissing you.”

“Exactly, Doctor. I knew I was being punished but figured it would end. Then, when I said I was ready to go to bed, he pointed to a chair and had me sit there while he left. Then he came back with a gun and stood over me.”