“That easy, huh? Bobby taking care of it?”
“Don’t make fun of Bobby. I love him. He’s a good husband.”
“I’m not making fun of him, but if he’s taken care of it, why are you so upset?”
She raised her head, taking the dusty air of the room deep into her lungs. When she fixed on me again she said, “This man came and—” She stopped talking and pressed her splayed fingers across her belly. “That’s how I lost the first baby. I’m sure it is. All the stress we were going through. I don’t want to lose this one.”
“I want to help you. I don’t like to see you like this.”
“People are always saying bad things about Bobby. They don’t understand that he’s a good person.”
She started to cry. Put one of those fragile hands to her face and wept. She kept the other hand on her belly, as if to reassure the infant inside.
I went over and sat next to her on the bed and put my arm around her. She didn’t resist. I’d done this a few times with my own daughter, especially in her teen years. She leaned against me. “It’s just so hard sometimes. And sometimes I think it’ll never be any easier.”
“You have to tell me what you’re talking about.”
“But if I do, he’ll think I’m betraying him. He always says that about people. And he’s right. But I don’t have anybody else to talk to about it. I’m just cooped up here all the time.”
“You can talk to me.”
“I don’t even know you.”
“You said you need to talk to somebody. I’m trying to be your friend.”
She dragged the palms of her hands down her gleaming face and snuffled up her tears. “Oh, God. You really should leave.”
I waited a minute before I spoke. She had put her hands on the horizon of her belly and was staring at the wall.
“You’re in trouble. Maybe I can help you.”
The sigh was ragged. “It’s just everything he tries — it never comes out right.”
“What never comes out right?”
She raised her head. “I just feel so sorry for him. And for our baby.”
“You’ll feel better if you talk about it.”
“Oh, damn,” she said. And started staring at the wall again. And then she said, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ll feel better if I talk about it.” When our eyes met this time she said, “Why did you come here?”
“I followed a woman here.”
“A woman?”
“Her name is Susan Cooper.”
“You know her?”
“Yes. Do you?”
She looked away. “It all looked like it was going to work out for a while. This band he was in got a good gig in Vegas, but then they dumped him. He’d been their lead singer for two years. Went behind his back and got somebody else.”
If this had been a puzzle you’d have realized that she’d just contributed at least two major pieces. And a picture was beginning to emerge. Bobby was a musician and she’d hinted that while there’d been trouble they hadn’t had anything to do with it. Giving a picture of the kind of people they knew. The kind whose visits left blood behind.
“Was he hurt today?”
She pulled her head back so she could see me. “Hurt?”
“The blood. Was that your husband’s?”
She shook her head. “No, no. Bobby can take care of himself. It was—” A deep sigh. She smelled of tears and shampoo. “I really can’t say anymore.”
He was there then. He managed to slam the door back against the wall in what seemed a second. And then he was charging me with a fist ready to smash me in the face.
I got my elbow in front of my face to block his punch, rising to my feet as he attacked. He was a few inches shorter than my six-two and on the slim side. But the arms at the end of his T-shirt sleeves were muscular and he knew how to fight. He stepped to the side of me, forcing me to turn and throw myself off balance in the process. He managed to hit me hard just below my cheekbone. But he made the mistake of hurrying in to follow up, and I was able to smack him with a blunt right hand to stun him. I cut his lip. He fell back against the desk.
“Stop it, Bobby!” she shrieked. “Do you know that our baby can hear everything that’s going on? Do you want to lose this one, too?”
Her words had a powerful and immediate effect on him. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry, Gwen. I’m sorry.” His words were troubled by what I’d done to his lip. His arms dropped to his sides. Then he ran a hand through his dark curly hair.
I walked to the door and closed it from inside. My head hurt from where he’d hit me. I was glad we weren’t throwing punches any longer.
I came back and said, “We need to talk.”
He wiped the blood from his lower lip with the back of his hand. “Who is this jerk, Gwen?”
“I’m not sure, Bobby. But he didn’t hurt me. He was nice.”
“Nice. Right.” To me: “You know, I could call the cops and get you in a lot of trouble.” He had a spiky beard that gave his handsome features a diabolical look. That was the whole idea. He was a standard-issue rock star type. The losers looked about the same as the winners. But the winners wouldn’t have to stay in motels like this one.
“Go ahead and call them. You want to use my cell phone?”
“You trying to be funny?”
“Bobby, calm down. This isn’t good for me. Or the baby.”
He made dramatic futile gestures with his hands and turned to face the wall. He pressed his forehead against it and stayed that way for a full minute. I glanced at Gwen. She just shook her head.
“Something happened here this morning, Bobby,” I said. “I’m trying to find out what.”
He came off the wall and said, “Nothing happened here.”
“There was a lot of blood on the desk. Somebody got hurt.”
“How the hell did you know that?”
“I came in here and saw it.”
“Yeah? How’d you get in?”
“The door was ajar. I walked in.”
He shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and then closed his eyes and lifted his head to the ceiling. I recognized the move. James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause. Nice to know that Bobby’s generation was still honoring him. “This is really bullshit.”
“Maybe we should tell him, Bobby—”
“No!” He dropped the pose and crossed to Gwen. “Honey, we don’t know who this jerk is. Or why he’s so interested in everything. You want to see me go to prison?”
“Oh, God, Bobby, don’t even say that.”
“Then don’t say we should tell him anything.”
Right now I was invisible to them.
Bobby got down on his haunches and put his head on her lap. She stroked it the way she would a child’s. Her eyes glistened with tears. Bobby spoke, the words muffled: “You have to stay with me on this, Gwennie. Otherwise I’m going to be in real trouble.”
It might have been an act. Hard to say. Maybe he wasn’t as tough as he thought and was using his wife as his mommy. Or maybe he had to keep her on his side and this moment of fear and sadness was his way of ensuring her loyalty.
He stood up and pulled down his T-shirt and hitched up his jeans. “Pack everything, honey. I’ve already checked us out.”
“Checked us out? Where are we going? I don’t want to leave, Bobby.” Obviously this grim room had become a kind of home to her. The prospect of leaving it scared her.
“A nicer place, honey. Much nicer.”
“But we don’t have the money.”
“What did I say about not talking in front of him? I’ll explain all this later. My suitcase is ready to go. You just get your stuff ready.”
He turned to me. “So that’s it, man. We’re leaving and I don’t want to see you following us.”