Betty Blue Page 11

  At first the guy just looked at her in surprise, then walking backward, he put his hand to his wound-it was pissing blood. It was all rather theatrical, but he seemed to have forgotten his lines-all he did was move his lips. Then it started to get annoying: Betty was breathing like a forge-she went toward him, but my arm came down in front of her and grabbed her by the wrist. I pulled as if I was trying to uproot a tree. I saw her feet leave the floor.

  “Hold it. Stop the meter,” I said.

  She tried to pull away but I held her with all my strength. She let out a little cry. I must say I was not pretending-had her arm been a tube of toothpaste, the stuff would have squirted for miles around. I dragged her toward the door with my teeth clenched. On our way out the door, I turned and took a last look at the guy. Ile was sinking into an armchair, looking numb. I imagined him reading my novel.

  We went down the stairs four at a time, stumbling. I slowed down on the second-floor landing so she could get her balance back. She started yelling.

  “GOD, YOU FUCKING BASTARD. WHY DO YOU ALWAYS LET THEM WALK ALL OVER YOU?”

  I stopped abruptly. I trapped her against the banister and looked into her face.

  “That dude didn’t do anything to me,” I said. “Nothing-you understand?”

  Tears of rage started coming out of her eyes. I felt my strength leaving me, as if someone had blowgunned me with a curare dart.

  “WELL GOD DAMN IT ALL! YOU’D THINK THAT NOTHING IN THIS WORLD EVER GETS TO YOU!!”

  “You’re wrong,” I said.

  “WELL, THEN, WHAT DOES? TELL ME WHAT GETS TO YOU!”

  I looked away.

  “Are we going to spend the night here?” I asked.

  12

  Two days later the cops took her away. I wasn’t there when they came. I was with Eddie. It was a Sunday afternoon and we were crisscrossing the town looking for olives-almost all the stores were closed. We had noticed only the night before that we were out-it seemed that Mario had committed a slight act of omission when he sent in his order for the kitchen. He’s got his gig down, Eddie explained, but you can’t ask him for the moon. It was windy that day-not more than thirty-four or thirty-five degrees. The temperature had gone down all at once.

  We were taking our time. Eddie drove slowly. It was a nice little joyride under an icy sun. I felt very relaxed for no reason in particular. Maybe going back and forth all over town in pursuit of a handful of olives made for a great time-if only for the peace that came over my soul, like a light blanket of snow over a field of dead men.

  We finally found what we were looking for in Chinatown-no joke-and to make it even better they gave us each a glass of sake, to insure a nonfrozen return to the car. On the way back we talked a bit louder. Eddie was wound up. His ears were red.

  “You see, buddy boy, a pizza without olives is like a peanut with nobody inside!”

  “Watch the road, will you?” I said.

  We parked in front of the house. I had barely stepped onto the sidewalk when I saw Lisa running toward us. We literally froze in our tracks. All she had on was a light sweater. She grabbed me.

  “My God, I don’t know what this is all… they took her…” she sobbed.

  “What’s going on? What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “Two cops… they came and took her away…”

  I bit my lip. Eddie was looking at us over the roof of the car. He wasn’t laughing. Lisa was turned inside out; her teeth were chattering. The sun faded.

  “All right, let’s talk about this inside. You’ll die of cold if you stay out here like this.”

  An hour later, after a brief discussion and a few phone calls, I had all the data. I drank a grog and put my jacket back on.

  “I’ll go with you,” Eddie said.

  “Thanks, no,” I said.

  “Okay, well at least take the car.”

  “No, it’ll do me good to walk. Don’t worry, it’s nothing.”

  I left. It wasn’t very late, but night had already fallen. I walked fast-hands in pockets, head tucked between my shoulders. The streets had turned into a string of ugly lights. I knew the way. I had fixed a toilet tank in the building next door. I remember I hadn’t liked having to walk past the police station with my tool box slung over my shoulder-I’d had the feeling they were watching me.

  I hadn’t even made it halfway when I got hit with a terrible pain in my side. It made my eyes blink and my mouth drop open-I felt like I was going to keel over. I stopped to breathe for a second. Great, I thought, as if the shit isn’t already deep enough. What had me most worried, though, was this business of pressing charges. The cop on the phone had told me that we were in for “some trouble.” I went the rest of the way doubled over, my brain burning. I wondered what “some trouble” meant to a cop. Passersby were puffing out little clouds of steam and so was I-at least one small sign that we all were still alive.

  Just before I got there, I was lucky enough to find a store open. I went in. It seemed a little silly to buy oranges, but I didn’t know, what else to get a girl behind bars. I was having trouble concentrating. On the other hand, oranges are full of vitamins. I finally decided on two cartons of juice. There was a girl dancing half naked on the label-a beach and blue water-without a care in the world.

  They showed me to an office where a dude was waiting for me. He was playing with a ruler. I was nervous. He pointed to a chair with the ruler and told me to sit down. He was a broad-shouldered guy with a half-smile on his lips, about forty years old. I was very nervous.

  “So here we are…” I said.

  “Save your breath,” he interrupted. “I know the story from A to Z. I’m the one who took the complaint, and I’ve talked a little bit with your friend…”

  “Oh…” I said.

  “Right,” he went on. “Just between us: beautiful girl, but a little jumpy…”

  “That depends. She’s not always like that. You know, I don’t know how to explain… It happens once a month. It’s hard for us to understand what it’s like for them. It must be tough…”

  “Yeah, okay, let’s not exaggerate…”

  “No… no… you’re right…”

  He looked at me attentively, then smiled. I was still wary, but I started to feel a little more comfortable. He seemed like a decent guy. Maybe for once I’d pulled the lucky number.

  “So… you write novels?” he said.

  “Yes. Yeah… I mean, I’m trying to get published.”

  He nodded his head for a few seconds. He put the ruler down on his desk. He got up and went to make sure no one was standing behind the door. Then he took a chair and pulled it up right in front of me. He straddled it and put his hand on my shoulder.

  “Listen,” he said. “I know what I’m talking about. Publishers… they’re all SOBs.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. Don’t move. I’m going to show you something.”

  He took a stack of papers out of his drawer and dropped it on his desk. I’d say three pounds, just eyeballing it, wrapped with a rubber band.

  “What do you think this is?… Give up?”

  “A manuscript, right?”

  I thought he was going to kiss me, but he contained himself. He just slapped my thigh, smiling like a goof.

  “You got it! You know, I’m starting to like you…”

  “Happy to be of service.”

  He stroked his stack of papers and looked me right in the eye.

  “Brace yourself,” he said. “They turned this book down twenty-seven times.”

  “Twenty-seven?”

  “Yeah. And I suppose it’s not over yet. Word must have gotten around. They’re all SOBs.”

  “Shit. Twenty-seven times. God almighty!”

  “I still think it’d sell like hotcakes-it’s the kind of thing people like. Man, when I think about it-ten years of my life in there, ten years of research-and I kept only the best episodes, the great ones. It’s a real keg of dynamite. So maybe it isn’t Al Capon
e, but believe me, it’s powerful stuff, you can take my word for it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, you’ll ask me why they haven’t published my book-ask me what the hell they use for brains. I know cops who’ve sold their memoirs for millions, so what’s the deal all of a sudden? Cop stories out of date?”

  “You’re right. It’s not even worth it to try to understand.”

  He nodded slowly, then glanced at my orange juice.

  “May I…? You want a drink?” he asked.

  I was in no position to refuse. I gave him one of the cartons, squashing a smile. He pulled a ten-inch knife out of his pocket and cut a hole in the spout. The knife was razor-sharp, but I didn’t bristle. Then he put two plastic cups on the desk and took out a bottle of vodka, already well used. While he filled the glasses, I started asking myself where I was.

  “To our success!” he said. “We’re not going to let ‘em get us down.”

  “Right on!”

  “You know, your friend… I can’t really say that she was in the right… but I won’t say she was in the wrong either. Those guys just sit there, calmly cutting to shreds somebody’s life’s-work in five minutes. You can’t tell me that cop stories are old hat. No way…”

  He poured us another round. I was starting to feel quite good. I was still carrying around the sake and the grog. I felt safe in his office. Things were getting to be just fine.

  “Christ, when that asshole called in with this story, it warmed the cockles of my heart. He really had it coming. I tossed down a few short ones to celebrate. Finally, I said to myself, finally one of them has got his just deserts.”

  “Yeah, well it was only a scratch. No need to make a federal case out of it.”

  “Listen, if it was me, I’d have knocked him out cold. I mean, who do those guys think they are?… Freshen that up for you?”

  The vodka went to my head like a horde of burning suns. I held my glass out with a smile. Sometimes life was lovely after all. I put my hand on the cop’s manuscript and looked into his eyes. We were both pretty out of it-good thing we were sitting.

  “Listen,” I said. “I’m hardly ever wrong about these things, and I’ll tell you something-your book is going to get published. I feel it in my bones. I hope you’ll send me an autographed copy.”

  “You really think so?”

  “There are certain signs. Your book is warm to the touch. It is an airplane about to take off.”

  The cop made a face like someone crossing the finish line of a marathon. He wiped his forehead with his hand.

  “Shit,” he said. “I can hardly believe it.”

  “Well, that’s how it is,” I said. “Now, what are we going to do about Betty? Maybe after all we’ve said, we ought to just call it even and…”

  “Christ, I’ll finally be able to get out of this crummy office…”

  “Right. Absolutely. So how about it?… Can I go get her?”

  I had to wait a few minutes for him to stop emoting. I glanced out the window into the dark night. I hoped that soon it would all be over. Ile scratched his head with one hand and poured us what was left in the bottle with the other. He sat there, watching the last drop fall.

  “Now for your friend… It’s a little tricky,” he said, making a face. “There is this fucking complaint, after all. I don’t really have a free hand here.”

  “Shit, don’t you remember?” I said. “She did it for guys like you and me. She sacrificed herself so that those fuckers would think twice before burying our books! She fought for us! Now it’s our turn to do something for her!”

  “My God, I know. I know. But there’s this complaint…”

  He couldn’t even look me in the eye. He sat there scratching an invisible spot on his pants. All the vodka I’d drunk had gotten me hot. I started raising my voice. I’d totally forgotten I was in a police station.

  “So what’s it gonna be?” I said. “I mean, who makes the laws around here, anyway? Are we going to let that asshole have the last word?! Are we going to keep writing only to be left behind in the dust?!!”

  “You don’t understand. The complaint has been filed…”

  He seemed embarrassed, but in the end he was just yellow, a lily-livered wimp, hogtied from head to foot. I started choking. “Listen,” I said. “Don’t tell me there’s nothing we can do here. This is a police station, after all. You ought to be able to do something…”

  “Yes, but it isn’t that simple. A filed complaint… there are records…”

  “Fine. I get it. Okay…”

  “I swear, man, I’m really sorry. If there was a solution I would…”

  We looked each other directly in the eye. I wondered if he thought it was funny-doling out his words one at a time like that; I wondered if it wasn’t conditioning that came with the job. I waited until he was good and ripe…

  “Tell me what to do,” I said.

  He looked at his shoes and shuffled his feet.

  “It wouldn’t take much.” He sighed. “All you have to do is get the guy to withdraw his complaint.”

  No one talked for a while. Then I stood up and grabbed my carton of juice-one hundred percent natural.

  “Can I see her? Is that possible?”

  “Yeah, I can arrange that.”

  “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for your book,” I said.

  There was one other woman in there with her, laid out on the bench in back. There wasn’t much light-the minimum. It was awful. She seemed in decent shape, though, even relaxed. You might have wondered which one of us was locked up. I gave her the orange juice with a wan smile, and held on to the bars.

  “How you doing?” I asked.

  “Okay, and you? What’s the matter? You don’t look so good.”

  “This whole fucking thing is my fault. But I’m going to get you out of here in a hurry. Just hold on, baby.”

  The bars were thick. No way to bend them apart after all I’d drunk-I was out of strength. Her hair was trying to tell me something. I put my hand out to touch it.

  “I’d feel better if I had a lock of hair to take with me,” I blubbered.

  She gave it a toss, laughing. Suddenly it wasn’t a prison cell-it was the cavern of Ali Baba. I was surely crazy, but I like being crazy-getting shaken by the sappiest of sights, putting my hand out to a girl to be taken away from all the senseless shit that surrounds us, a small flame burning in my belly.

  She had such an effect on me. I stumbled, then righted myself with a smile. All that counted was that she was alive. The rest didn’t exist.

  “Hey…” she said. “Man, you can hardly stand up. Come here…”

  I didn’t. I backed up a little.

  “You don’t know what I’ve been through-I haven’t stopped thinking about you one second.”

  “Yeah, but it hasn’t killed you, has it? It hasn’t been a waste of time…”

  I felt like a moving sidewalk was pulling me toward the door. I backed away, against the wall. I absolutely had to leave with a sweet image in my head-something I could carry around like a good-luck charm.

  “Everything’s going to be all right,” I said. “I got to go now, but I swear you’re not going to rot in here very long, because I’m going to take care of everything. I’m going to solve all our problems.”

  “Yeah, I can see that. You can barely stand up. I’m sure you’ll do a good job. Hey, don’t go away like that…”

  But I did. I kept backing up until I found myself in the shadow of the hallway, where I couldn’t see her anymore.

  “Don’t forget, I’m getting you out of here!” I shouted. “Don’t be afraid!”

  There was a hollow noise, as if shr’d kicked the bars with her foot.

  “HAHA!” she said. “YOU THINK THIS STUFF SCARES ME??”

  I went home slowly, going in through the back to avoid Eddie and Lisa. I went straight to the bedroom without turning on the lights. I heard them talking downstairs. I lay down and smoked an entire cigarette. I bre
athed slowly, bringing her image up in my head for as long, and as often, as I pleased. I felt better after that. I splashed a little water on my face, then went downstairs. I felt their eyes on me halfway down the stairs.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s almost all taken care of.”

  “You been here long?” Eddie asked.

  “Now don’t get upset. Do you realize that Mario is working without olives? Looked at your watch lately?”

  We jumped in the car. I worked like a dog all night, but my heart wasn’t in it. Tips, zero.

  13

  I woke up the next morning. I didn’t think twice. I got out of bed and, while the coffee was heating, did twenty push-ups without batting an eye. I don’t usually do things like that, but somehow it felt right. I stood up again and walked to the window. A ray of sunshine hit me in the face. It made me smile. I went to turn off the coffee, and broke the knob on the stove in half. I felt fit-incapable of coming up with a single thought, but wound tight as a spring and responsive as a remote-control engine. This was fine with me. From time to time it feels good to unplug your brain. I watched myself get dressed, straighten up the room, and do a few dishes. I smoked a cigarette before I left-the last cigarette of the condemned man. The condemned man wasn’t me, but I smoked it for him, to save time.

  When he asked me through the door who I was, I said I was producing a television show on Literature. The first thing I saw when he opened up was the bandage across his cheek. His eyes bulged when I gave him a hard right to the stomach. He folded in half. I went in, closed the door behind me, and delivered another one. This time he went down to his knees. It hurt me to see him like that-eyes popping out and mouth twisted in an inaudible cry-it hurt me. I sent him rolling into the living room with my foot.

  He landed under a table. Ile tried to get up, but I was on him in two steps. I grabbed him by the lapels of his housecoat and twisted my fist in it to strangle him. I dragged him coughing and spitting to an armchair, and sat down. I let up a little on the lapels, so he could catch his breath, but at the same time gave him a sharp knee in the nose, to maintain the psychological edge. I moved aside quickly to keep the blood from getting all over me.