that.
She took a nervous breath of the cold morning air. Why did it have to happen? She felt such a horrible foreboding. It was probably just because it had happened in the dead of the night. It was a strange time, a silent, barren time. It was a frightening time, this lonely empty shell of hours that was not night and not day. And it frightened her to be out in the streets in a cab now.
Up Lexington Avenue, past the silent store fronts, the dead faces of the restaurants, now and then past the thin, green neon of a bar still open, people in there drinking. How could they be awake and living at this hour?
Maybe they were another race that lives when all of us go to sleep
.
Then she suddenly thought, what if she got sick to her stomach? She’d had a rough time the past few weeks. But she’d really feel foolish if she came to Stan’s place and had to run right to the bathroom. A sort of harried smile crossed her lips. What would Bob say?
No more thought
, she told herself.
I’m going and that’s all there is to it. No matter what he says. If he yells at me I won’t mind as long as it’s a nice, healthy unharmed yell. If he takes me over his knee and spanks me I won’t care. As long as the hand that spanks is nice and safe and mine
.
In the darkness, in the silence of the great city, the cab sped up Lexington Avenue, its motor humming. Thirty-fifth Street, Thirty-sixth Street, Thirty-seventh, Thirty…
4:00 AM
Vince stiffened at the sound of the bell. The apartment seemed to shake with the sound. He stood tensely, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, his throat congested. He coughed. He didn’t know what to do exactly.
He looked at Stan.
“All right,” he said hoarsely, “you’re going to—”
“Vince, for God’s sake, don’t do it!” Stan suddenly burst out. “He hasn’t done anything to you.”
Vince was going to shout at him to shut up, but he held it in. His dark eyes glittered as he spoke quickly, gutturally.
“Shut up,” he said. “You’re going to open the door and let him in.”
Stan looked at him with blank eyes. He glanced toward Jane. His heart was thudding rapidly.
“Get out there,” Vince said.
“Vince…”
Vince raised the gun and pointed it at Stan. “You want to die?”
Stan braced himself.
I’ll let him shoot me
, he suddenly thought. It would warn Bob. He felt himself shudder.
No, no
, his mind rationalized quickly.
He’ll shoot Jane then. You can’t do it
.
But, deep inside, he knew he was a coward and afraid to die.
Vince moved behind Stan. He prodded the gun into Stan’s back as Stan stopped by his wife.
Stan jolted nervously as the gun barrel touched him. He looked into the hall with sick eyes and started walking toward the door.
God, why am I doing what he tells me to?
His teeth ground together in impotent fury.
The doorbell rang again and kept on ringing. Vince felt a wild, surging elation. Now he was going to avenge Ruth. All right, he couldn’t play the piano but at least he could save Ruth. He
would
save her.
Strangely enough though he couldn’t feel much about Ruth. He knew he wanted revenge. But he didn’t realize it wasn’t Ruth he wanted to avenge. It was himself, on the world. The world which had crippled his left arm and made it impossible for him to play anymore.
They stopped.
“Now,” Vince said in a grating voice, “
open the door
.”
No. No. Stan tried to turn the word into sound. His fingers curled around the door knob. Bob was his friend and yet he had brought Bob here to die. Scream out and beat on the door and warn Bob. Turn and fight Vince until the bullets were all gone from the gun into his body. He wanted to fight for Jane.
But he couldn’t. He stood there, shaking and helpless, his stomach a hot, churning knot of pain. And the words stabbed at his brain drawing the blood of his self-respect, the last few drops of it.
I am a coward
.
“Open it!”
The cloud of Vince’s hot, furled whisper surrounded
She took a nervous breath of the cold morning air. Why did it have to happen? She felt such a horrible foreboding. It was probably just because it had happened in the dead of the night. It was a strange time, a silent, barren time. It was a frightening time, this lonely empty shell of hours that was not night and not day. And it frightened her to be out in the streets in a cab now.
Up Lexington Avenue, past the silent store fronts, the dead faces of the restaurants, now and then past the thin, green neon of a bar still open, people in there drinking. How could they be awake and living at this hour?
Maybe they were another race that lives when all of us go to sleep
.
Then she suddenly thought, what if she got sick to her stomach? She’d had a rough time the past few weeks. But she’d really feel foolish if she came to Stan’s place and had to run right to the bathroom. A sort of harried smile crossed her lips. What would Bob say?
No more thought
, she told herself.
I’m going and that’s all there is to it. No matter what he says. If he yells at me I won’t mind as long as it’s a nice, healthy unharmed yell. If he takes me over his knee and spanks me I won’t care. As long as the hand that spanks is nice and safe and mine
.
In the darkness, in the silence of the great city, the cab sped up Lexington Avenue, its motor humming. Thirty-fifth Street, Thirty-sixth Street, Thirty-seventh, Thirty…
4:00 AM
Vince stiffened at the sound of the bell. The apartment seemed to shake with the sound. He stood tensely, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, his throat congested. He coughed. He didn’t know what to do exactly.
He looked at Stan.
“All right,” he said hoarsely, “you’re going to—”
“Vince, for God’s sake, don’t do it!” Stan suddenly burst out. “He hasn’t done anything to you.”
Vince was going to shout at him to shut up, but he held it in. His dark eyes glittered as he spoke quickly, gutturally.
“Shut up,” he said. “You’re going to open the door and let him in.”
Stan looked at him with blank eyes. He glanced toward Jane. His heart was thudding rapidly.
“Get out there,” Vince said.
“Vince…”
Vince raised the gun and pointed it at Stan. “You want to die?”
Stan braced himself.
I’ll let him shoot me
, he suddenly thought. It would warn Bob. He felt himself shudder.
No, no
, his mind rationalized quickly.
He’ll shoot Jane then. You can’t do it
.
But, deep inside, he knew he was a coward and afraid to die.
Vince moved behind Stan. He prodded the gun into Stan’s back as Stan stopped by his wife.
Stan jolted nervously as the gun barrel touched him. He looked into the hall with sick eyes and started walking toward the door.
God, why am I doing what he tells me to?
His teeth ground together in impotent fury.
The doorbell rang again and kept on ringing. Vince felt a wild, surging elation. Now he was going to avenge Ruth. All right, he couldn’t play the piano but at least he could save Ruth. He
would
save her.
Strangely enough though he couldn’t feel much about Ruth. He knew he wanted revenge. But he didn’t realize it wasn’t Ruth he wanted to avenge. It was himself, on the world. The world which had crippled his left arm and made it impossible for him to play anymore.
They stopped.
“Now,” Vince said in a grating voice, “
open the door
.”
No. No. Stan tried to turn the word into sound. His fingers curled around the door knob. Bob was his friend and yet he had brought Bob here to die. Scream out and beat on the door and warn Bob. Turn and fight Vince until the bullets were all gone from the gun into his body. He wanted to fight for Jane.
But he couldn’t. He stood there, shaking and helpless, his stomach a hot, churning knot of pain. And the words stabbed at his brain drawing the blood of his self-respect, the last few drops of it.
I am a coward
.
“Open it!”
The cloud of Vince’s hot, furled whisper surrounded
Similar Books
