“Get lost, Robinson!” Marlene snarled.
“ ‘Robinson’? Dear me, yesterday when you assaulted me, it was ‘doctor’ and very polite with it. It must be the immigrant crudity surfacing.” He turned his gaze on Lucy, and Marlene felt her flesh prickle. “Manners are very important, little girl. For example, it’s considered rude in the best circles to hit men in their wee-wees with your gun.”
Marlene stooped and yanked up their blanket. “Fine, we’ll leave. Take the thermos, Lucy.”
“Oh, but aren’t you going to introduce me to Lucy?” said Robinson. He rose and took a step closer to the girl.
“Yes. Lucy, this is Dr. Vincent Robinson, a vicious, evil man. You are not to ever talk to him, and if you see him coming, run away.”
She took Lucy’s hand and started to walk back toward the house. Robinson followed close behind Marlene, crowding her, his mouth inches from her ear. “What a thing to say!” he murmured. “Really, I love children. Their bones are so flexible. I like it when they sit on my lap. Do you think Lucy would like to sit on my lap? No? Maybe later.”
They reached the cut in the dunes where a path led back to the big house. Marlene could smell his cologne and feel his breath warm against her neck.
“You have absolutely no idea what you’re in for, do you, my little wop? A bodyguard? What a joke you are! You’re like a dog that’s run into the street just about to get squashed by a truck, you and kikey Ike, and your little mutt bitch-”
Marlene placed two fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing two-tone whistle. In seconds the dune grass was rattling with the passage of a large animal, and Sweety emerged onto the path. Marlene turned and pointed at Robinson. “Sweety, iddu é ’n nemicu,” she said. Sweety made a sound like oil drums rolling down a gangplank and showed Robinson all his pretty white teeth. Robinson’s tan lightened a shade. “If that dog touches me, I’ll sue you for every cent you’ve got,” he said. “I’ll break you-”
“No, actually, you won’t,” said Marlene, “because if he goes for you, you won’t be able to pee, much less sue. In fact, I think it’s you who’ve gotten in over your head, Vince, not me. Now go away! We don’t allow degenerates on this side of the island.”
As she spoke, Sweety, his black hair bristling, was inching closer, snarling softly and slavering. A gob of dog drool fell on the naked arch of Robinson’s foot. He forced his face into a not-very-convincing superior smile, nodded, gestured touché with his hand, spun on his heel, and left.
“You should’ve sicced Sweety on him, Mom,” said Lucy as they walked together up to the house.
“No, actually, I’m pretty pleased with the way I handled that. The thing about violence is you want to avoid it whenever you possibly can. It takes something out of you when you use it. At first it’s hard, and then it gets easier, and then you don’t notice it at all. Or like it.”
“Like that man,” said Lucy.
“Yeah, like him. The other thing is, you don’t want to use it in dribs and drabs. Either you don’t use it at all, or you use it with overwhelming force.”
“What you did on the street, in the fair.”
“Uh-huh,” said Marlene. Suddenly she felt weak, exhausted. Though the day was cool, her throat felt rough and parched, as if she had just fought a battle on the desert. She plopped herself down in one of the Adirondack chairs, and took a long drink of lemonade from the thermos. She offered it to Lucy.
“No, it’s too sour. Can I go in and get a Coke from Mrs. Marney?”
Yes, she could. Lucy trotted away. Staring after her, Marlene wondered why she had just given her daughter a lesson in applied violence, why Lucy could shoot a pistol and box at an age when her peers were tinkling out little Mozart sonatas or learning how to float on their toes to Swan Lake. Was this crazy or the acme of sanity, given the state of the world? Marlene couldn’t decide.
She sat there for the better part of an hour. Mr. Marney came out of the house, grumbling to himself and pulling on a yellow slicker. He waved to Marlene as he went past. Shortly thereafter, she heard the sound of the big speedboat starting up, echoing loudly in the boathouse, and then the sound of a group of chattering people on the path to the dock, and then the sound of the speedboat pulling away. Ginnie and her pals must be off. Marlene wondered if her interaction with Robinson had prompted the exodus. She didn’t really care, and in any case the little shits could be back at any time. They seemed like insects in their flitting from one pleasure dome to another. Still, she felt some resolution of this affair was at hand. Either Robinson would go on to other tortures, or he would try again and she would catch him.
Tranh came out of the house. Marlene watched his peculiar light, shambling, round-shouldered walk, which always looked to her as if he were carrying a burden. He made almost no sound as he crossed the gravel path.
“Excuse me, Marie-Helene, but the repair shop has called. Your car is completed. They wish to hear when you will collect it.”
Marlene looked up at the sky, which was lowering. “It’s going to pour later. Let’s do it right now,” she said. “We’ll drive over to Southhampton in the Wolfe-mobile and you can drive the VW back here, and then you can take Lucy back tomorrow in Wolfe’s car. Oh! Can you drive a …?” Marlene gestured shifting a manual shift. Tranh responded with a remarkable Gallic facial expression combining injured pride with a negative assessment of the intellectual capacity of the interlocutor. Marlene laughed, Tranh brought out one of his rare grins, and they both went inside.
Marlene and Lucy were in Wolfe’s Caprice, driving back to Sag Harbor, the VW, ransomed for an outrageous fee, trailing behind, the windshield wipers clearing the steady drizzle from the windows. Marlene and Lucy were singing along with the Eagles tape. Marlene felt good. There seemed to be some new energy vibrating in her body, and the familiar lyrics were somehow more profound and full of a deeper meaning. The last song, “You Can’t Hide These Lyin’ Eyes” finished amid general merriment. Lucy popped out the tape.
“Are there any more tapes?”
“Hits of the Seventies?” Marlene offered.
“Yuck!” Lucy popped the glove, came up empty, looked on the floor behind the front seat.
“Here’s one,” she said, retrieving it.
“That’s not music,” said Marlene. “And put your belt back on!”
Lucy did so and looked at the plain black tape. The label had nothing on it but a numbered date. “What is it, then?”
“Oh, it’s like a lesson. Wolfe listens to it while he drives. It sort of helps him to be … I guess, better at his job.”
“I want to hear it,” said Lucy, and thrust it into the slot.
Click. Hiss. “You’re wrong, it is too music,” said Lucy.
Marlene jammed on the brakes so hard that her rear wheels fishtailed and Tranh had to swerve to avoid her as he pulled up on the shoulder behind. She turned off the engine and dashed back to the trunk. With shaking hands she inserted the key and jerked up the lid, revealing two long boxes of tape cassettes. She inspected a few, but knew beforehand what they were: commercial tapes and bootleg tapes from concerts, everything Edie Wooten had ever recorded.
Tranh came running up. “What is the matter? Has the car broken down?”
“No, and there’s no time to explain. We have to get back to the island immediately.” She slammed the trunk down and ran to take the wheel. The Caprice roared onto the road, tires shimmying on the slick pavement.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” asked Lucy as the car passed a truck at seventy in the face of incoming traffic, and the outraged horns blared.
“What’s wrong is I’m an idiot,” said Marlene tightly, half to herself. “Of course it was Wolfe. It was sticking in my face from the time I read his application. He was a security guard at Tanglewood, and the Music Lover letters started just after that. I let him into her apartment-of course he had the keys, he could come and go as he pleased. The night in Juilliard, same thing. Christ! I saw Robinson, and it never occurred to me that-shit! And when he came in the other night, he didn’t have to climb any walls-Sweety would’ve licked his hand. Conway Twitty, my ass!” She actually banged the heel of her hand against her forehead. She was puzzled about what she was feeling. A disaster like this … but somehow she found it hard to take seriously, as if a barrier had appeared between her and the world of feeling.