When she started to sit down, he said, “Stand. The middle of the room.”
She did that, her hands at her sides.
Returning to the sofa, he said, “What did you tell her?”
“That I had a migraine headache.”
“She believed you?”
“I guess so.”
“Did you know her?”
“Yes.”
“Who was she?”
“My sister-in-law.”
“She lives in Black River?”
“Has most all her life.”
“Quite a looker.”
“She was in the Miss USA contest.”
“Oh? When was that?”
“Twelve, thirteen years ago.”
“Still looks twenty-two.”
“She’s thirty-five.”
“She win?”
“Came in third.”
“Big disappointment, I’ll bet.”
“For Black River. She didn’t mind.”
“She didn’t? Why not?”
“Nothing bothers her.”
“Is that so?”
“She’s that way. Always happy.” “What’s her name?” “Emma.”
“Last name?”
“Thorp.”
“Thorp? She married?” “Yes.”
He frowned. “To that cop?” “He’s the chief of police.” “Bob Thorp.”
“That’s right.” “What’s she doing with him?” She was baffled. She blinked at him. Cute little animal. He swore he could still smell her. She said, “What do you mean?”
What I said. What s she doing with him?
“Well. .. they’re married.”
“A woman like her with a big, dumb cop.”
“He’s not dumb,” she said.
“Looks dumb to me.” He thought about it for a moment, and then he smiled. “Your maiden name’s Brenda Thorp.”
“Yes.”
“Bob Thorp’s your brother.”
“My oldest brother.”
“Poor Bob.” He leaned back in the sofa and folded his arms on his chest and laughed. “First I get to his kid sister-then I get to his wife.”
She smiled uncertainly. Nervously.
“I’ll have to be careful, won’t I?”
“Careful?” she said.
“Bob maybe dumb, but he’s big as a bull.”
“He isn’t dumb,” she insisted.
“In high school I dated a girl named Sophia.”
She was silent. Confused.
“Sophia Brookman. God, I wanted her.”
“Loved her?”
“Love’s a lie. A myth. It’s bullshit. I just wanted to screw her. But she dropped me after a few dates and started going with this other guy, Joey Duncan. You know what Joey Duncan did after high school?”
“How would I know?” “He went to junior college.” “So did I.”
“Took criminology for a year.” “I majored in history.”
“He flunked out.” “Not me.”
“Ended up with the home town police.”
“Just like my brother.”
“I went to Harvard.”
“Did you really?”
“I was always a better dresser than Joey was. Besides that, he was as dull as a post. I was much wittier than he was. Joey didn’t read anything but the jokes in Reader’s Digest. I read The New Yorker every week.”
“I don’t like either one.”
“In spite of all that, Sophia preferred him. But you know what?”
“What?”
“It was in The New Yorker that I first saw something about subliminal perception. Back in the fifties. An article, editorial, maybe a little snippet at the bottom of a column. I forget exactly what it was. But that’s what got me started. Something in The New Yorker.”
Brenda sighed. Fidgeted.
“Tired of standing?” “A little.”
“Are you bored?”
“Kind of.”
“Bitch.”
She looked at the floor.
“Get your clothes off.”
The lovely power. He was filled with it, brimming with it- but it had changed. At first it had seemed to him like a steady, exhilarating current. Part of the time it was still like that, a soft humming inside of him, perhaps imagined but nevertheless electrifying, a river of power on which he sailed in complete command. But occasionally now, for short periods, it felt not like a constant flow but like a continuous and endless series of short, sharp bursts. The power like a submachine gun: tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat . . . The rhythm of it affected him. His mind spun. Thoughts adance, no thought finished, leaping from one thing to another: Joey Duncan, Harvard, key-lock, Miriam, his mother, dark-eyed Sophia, breasts, sex, Emma Thorp, bitches, Dawson, Brenda, his growing erection, his mother, Klinger, Brenda, cunt, the power, jackboots, Emma’s legs- “What now?”
She was naked.
He said, “Come here.” Little animal.
“Get down.”
“On the floor?”
“On your knees.” She got down.
“Beautiful animal.” “You like me?”
“You’ll do until.”
“Until what?”
“Until I get your sister-in-law.”
“Emma?”
“I’ll make him watch.”