And one killer ass-bandit.
Everybody pretended they hated ass-bandits but they secretly admired them because secretly that's what they wanted to be. Even chicks wanted to be ass-bandits when you came right down to it.
And so the girlCinihad come up here tonight and she'd done just what he'd wanted her to do (he felt so powerful, a chick doing him that way) and now she was finished and fixing herself up.
He stood at the window and looked out at the gathering autumn dusk, the shadows falling between skyscrapers, the first faint evening stars.
She said, 'So do I get the part?'
He smiled. 'You bet.'
'Oh God, wait till I call my mom!'
He slid an arm around her. 'You going to be around your apartment tomorrow night?'
'Sorry. Got a date.' She walked back to the door and picked up her blazer. She had wonderful breasts displayed in that sheer blouse of hers. She picked up her coat.
'Anything serious, your date?' He realized that he soundedpreposterouslyhurt. No business of his how she spent her nights. But still, he felt spurned. Lonely, even.
She smiled. 'I have a boyfriend, Mr Brooks.'
'God, are we back to Mr Brooks?' He was irritated. 'And this boyfriend of yours, what would he do if he knew'
A sad smile. 'He knows you have to do certain things you might not really want to do, in order to get a certain part.'
She went to the door, put a slender hand to the knob. Last night she'd looked a little sluttish to him, but today there was a kind of dignity to her. He hated women with dignity. You couldn't push them around without a great deal of effort.
'So you didn't really want to do it?'
She looked at him. 'What's the difference, Mr Brooks? I did it, didn't I?' The gaze narrowed. 'You're not going to take the part back from me, are you? I mean, I fulfilled my part of the bargain.'
Hurt. Pain. Great crashing waves of self-doubt. Didn't this girl know who he was? Didn't she know about his powerful friends?
'Jesus, I can't believe this.'
'I really should be going, Mr Brooks.'
'You just came in here and very cynically had sex with me and You probably don't even like me much, do you?'
'I'm late, Mr Brooks. Sorry.' She opened the door.
'You know, that's just what you deserve. You know that, don't you? I mean, the way you're talking to me now, I should take that part right back from you, this minute, and there isn't a goddammed thing you could do about it.'
This time, the look was a glare. 'I did what you wanted me to, Mr Brooks. Now do I still have the part or not?'
'Bitch,' he muttered to himself.
'I'll call the casting director, then, and tell him that you decided to go with me.'
She started through the doorway, paused, and then said, 'I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings, Mr Brooks.' The quick sad smile again. 'I really wasn't.'
CHAPTER 12
'Tappley residence.'
'Mrs Tappley, please,' said Rick Corday.
'May I say who's calling?'
'Mr Runyon.' That was the code name she knew him by.
'One moment, please.'
She came on at once. 'Good evening, Mr Runyon.'
'You asked us to keep you informed.'
'Yes.'
'We're just about to get the project underway.'
'I see. I hadn't heard from you or your partner for some time. I was getting concerned.'
'Everything is fine.'
'So it will besoon?'
'Very soon, Mrs Tappley. Very soon.'
'And you'll keep me informed?'
'Oh, you'll know about it, Mrs Tappley. I promise you that.'
'You're certain you've thought it through?' This was more like the Mrs Tappley Rick Corday had talked to before. He knew her attorney, Arthur K. Halliwell, who had set all this up. Rick had never met Mrs Tappley, but she was certainly formidable over the phone.
'We've thought it through carefully,' he told her now. 'We couldn't have asked for a better set-up.'
'I've waited a long time for this.'
'I know you have, Mrs Tappley.'
'I just want everything to go right.'
'It'll go fine, Mrs Tappley. I promise.'
This was one of the few times he'd heard both age and grief in her voice. Her son had been executed. She'd never recovered. All she had, as the lawyer had said, was her anger and her desire for vengeance. And those things could sap you of all reason and all strength.
'Good luck, then.'
'Thank you, Mrs Tappley. Talk to you soon.'
CHAPTER 13
She went to Fat Camp six years in a row, Cini did, and each summer lost somewhere between fifteen and thirty pounds. Over the first two months of school, she put those pounds right back on. Between her junior and senior years in high school, her last year at Fat Camp, she actually gained twelve pounds over the course of the summer. She was five feet six and weighed nearly two hundred pounds. Whenever Cini was depressed about her weight, her mother always said the same thing: 'But you have such a pretty face, dear.' The frustrating thing in all this was that Cini's father was a heart specialist, a man who could tell you all about what excess weight could do to your health. His warnings, which her mother usually softened by sneaking in with a powdered donut or a Snickers when Dr Powell had gone, did not seem to have an undue effect on Cini. At school, there was kind of a Fat Girls group. It cut across all lines of race, socio-economic status and intelligence. The girls had three things in common. They were fat; they did not want to be fat; boys made fun of them. Some boys even referred to them collectively as 'The Whales,' thus disputing the myth that most boys start to grow up a little as they near graduation. Even in this group, Cini was an outsider. She felt that the others were brighter and cleverer than she was, and so she tended to be quiet whenever anything important was discussed, like what time to meet at the mall or who could get the van tonight or which night they were going to the grand opening of the Ample Lady, which was where girls of their size shopped.
The year she turned nineteen, Cini was hit by a car. She was crossing a street over near Northwestern, not really watching where she was going, just hurrying to get out of the chill March rain, and here this car suddenly appeared. Cini was too big to move with any skill. The car, a new Chevrolet, slammed into her and knocked her down. She was unconscious by the time her head collided with the wet pavement, and she would remain unconscious for more than three months. Later on, her parents told her about all the extraordinary steps they had taken to save her life, including Daddy's old friend Dr Weintraub flying up from Dallas and virtually babysitting Cini during the most critical two weeks of the entire process.
Cini woke up on a sunny May day and looked out the window. She was not sure who she was, where she was, or what had happened. Then she looked down at her body and realized she was dreaming. She weighed scarcely half of the real Cini. No more than 100 pounds. She screamed. This dream was too weird, too real. Nurses came running, shoes squeaking, diving for her bed to see what had gone wrong.
'Help me wake up, please. I'm scared,' Cini said to the first nurse who took her hand.
'You are awake, Cini. You've been unconscious for almost three months but now you're finally awake.'
'But my bodyMy weight'
The nurse smiled. 'I'll have the doctor come in. I'll also call your parents and have them come over right away.'
It was simple enough, explained the doctor who came in.
They'd decided to help rid her of her excess weight as they also slowly tried to woo her out of her coma. He told her about all the fractures she'd sustained, then about all the damage her cranium had suffered. She was lucky to be alive, he said.
On 3 August of that year, the first time Cini was permitted to leave the house by herself, she put on a blouse and a pair of jeans and looked at herself in the mirror and grinned her ass off. Her very shapely ass. She was not just a pretty face these days. She was a pretty body, too.