And she was, Mitch suddenly realized, so drunk.
“I didn’t tell him you were coming over,” she added, handing him his glass.
“Why not?”
“He would not understand. He just gets terribly jealous.”
He sipped his wine. “What was it you wanted to tell me, Mandy?”
Mandy stared at him, dazed and dumbfounded. “Don’t believe in wasting time with small talk, do you, Mitch?”
“It’s been kind of a long day.”
“Well, then have a seat,” she commanded, waving him over toward the sofa. “Relax.”
He sat on the sofa, but he did not relax. She turned off the music and curled up next to him, one bare leg folded underneath her.
“It’s about the night of Dolly’s cocktail party,” Mandy began. She suddenly seemed edgy and distracted, as if she were trying to listen to a radio broadcast in the other room. Only no radio was playing. “The night when the Weems man was murdered, remember?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Well, Bud did not come to bed that night,” she revealed. “Truth of the matter is, he was not even home.”
“Where was he?”
Mandy took a sip of her wine. “With her,” she said to him over the rim of her glass.
“Dolly?”
She nodded her head, slowly and gravely.
“What are you saying exactly?”
“I’m saying that he and that bitch are still sleeping together,” Mandy replied, her voice now low and menacing.
“How do you know this?”
“I know because he slips out in the night on me all the time. I’ve followed him to her place. I’ve seen him.”
She wasn’t necessarily telling Mitch anything he didn’t already know. He knew that Bud kept an eye on Dolly in the night. He’d run smack into the lawyer in her kitchen. “Go on,” he urged.
“He didn’t come home that night until almost five in the morning. And when he did he was wet-and I mean soaking wet. Not from running next door in the rain. But from being out in it for a long, long time.”
“I see…” Mitch considered this for a moment, wondering where else Bud had been on that stormy night. Where had he gone after Mitch was safely back in his own bed? For that matter, where else had Dolly gone? Mitch had no idea. And his mind was racing now. Because the two of them could have killed Weems together. “Did you tell Lieutenant Mitry this?”
Mandy lowered her eyes and gave a brief shake of her head.
“Why not?”
She didn’t respond, other than to shake her head again.
“Why are you telling me?”
Now her blue eyes met his. And she did not seem the least bit drunk. She seemed cold sober, her gaze piercing, her body tensed. “Because I want there to be trust between us.”
“Well, sure. Trust is important between friends.”
“Is that what we are… friends?” she asked him imploringly. “People who can say anything to each other? No shame? No fear?”
“Absolutely, Mandy. We’re friends.”
She untensed now, smiling at him. “Good, I’m so glad. Because there is a favor I wanted to ask of you. It’s kind of a humongous one
…”
Mitch sipped his wine. “Name it.”
“Do you remember me mentioning how much I want to start a family?”
“Two or three little Havenhursts, as I recall.”
“Well, Bud can’t anymore,” she said matter-of-factly. “His sperm count’s too low or something. Actually, I’m not sure what it is, since he refuses to go see a fertility specialist. In fact, he’s dead set against the whole idea of starting a new family with me. And so what I thought was…” She trailed off, swallowing. “He’ll believe it’s his baby, Mitch. And he’d never find out the truth. I swear I’d-”
“Whoa, freeze frame!” Mitch broke in sharply. “What are you saying-that you want to have my test tube baby?”
Mandy frowned at him prettily. “Why, no, Mitch. I’m saying I want to go to bed with you.”
“Whew,” he gasped, fanning himself. “Is it getting weird in here or is it just me?”
“I’m perfectly serious, Mitch.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“Well, no, but…”
“Save my marriage, Mitch,” she pleaded. “Save me. Make love to me.” Her voice was a soft purr now. And she had moved very close to him on the sofa, her hand caressing his chest. “I am way serious.” She took his hand and guided it along her bare leg, her skin like electric velvet to his touch. “And way good.” Now she moved his hand under her shift… up, up, up… there. “And way ready,” she whispered. Which she most definitely was.
Briefly, Mitch could not believe this was happening to him. Utterly amazing. Also utterly out of the question. He snatched his hand away from hers and got up and crossed the room toward the faux fireplace, Mandy’s eyes following him.
“You barely know me,” he said hoarsely.
“I know plenty,” she countered. “I know you’ve got brains. You scored at least fourteen hundred on your SAT exams, am I right?”
“Well, yes, but that doesn’t necessarily equate with-”
“You’re smart. I want someone with smarts. I’m a big, healthy girl, a good athlete, pretty. Between us, we’ve got all the bases covered. Our kid would be great, Mitch. Pure dynamite.”
Mitch cleared his throat, swallowing. “Look, I’m very flattered. And I think you’re incredibly attractive. But there’s something you have to understand about me…”
“What is it?” Mandy wondered anxiously.
“I haven’t slept with anyone since my wife passed away. And when I do-if I do-I want it to be someone who I’m seriously involved with. I want it to be special. Can you understand that?”
She let out a sad laugh and got up and came over to him. “Of course, I do. You’re a romantic. I think that’s wonderful. Quaint and sweet and wonderful. I really do. Only answer me this…” She set her wineglass down on the mantle, then whirled and slapped Mitch across the face as hard as she could, an open-handed blow that stung like fire. “What am I, a goddamned bag lady?! Do you know how gorgeous I am? Do you know, how many men want me? How dare you say no to me?! What are you, some kind of fag?” Now she hurled herself at him, pummeling his chest and shoulders with her fists, kicking him, kneeing him.
The woman was out of control. The woman was totally mad.
Mitch tried to subdue her. He grabbed her by her bare arms, gripping her tightly. They wrestled. They grappled. They fell to the floor with a loud thud, her nails raking his face, an animal snarl coming from deep down in her throat. She was coiled and strong, but he was stronger. And he did outweigh her. And now he had her pinned to the carpet with his body. And as the fight slowly began to seep out of her, her eyes grew softer and her body began to shift and writhe and undulate beneath his, her lips pulling back from her teeth, her breathing becoming shallow and swift. She was, Mitch realized much to his horror, intensely aroused by this. She wanted this.
“God, give it to me right now, Mitch,” she moaned, her arms and legs entwining around him now, clutching him to her. One bare, perfect breast was fully exposed, her breath was hot on his face, her tongue in his ear. “Give it to me!”
Recoiling from her as though she was toxic to the touch, Mitch scrambled to his feet and fled out the door, Mandy screaming curses after him at the top of her lungs. He caught a cab home. His driver didn’t seem to notice-or care-that he was bleeding from his face, neck and hands. His lip was swollen and numb. His shirt was torn. He felt as if he had just been mauled by a tiger. He had. She was a tiger. Also a card-carrying lunatic. And the knife cut both ways-if Bud wasn’t home in bed the night Weems was murdered, then she had no one to vouch for her own whereabouts either. What if she and Niles Seymour had been an item? What if Niles had tried to break it off with her after he took up with Torry? What if Mandy had murdered them both? She did not exactly cope well with rejection, Mitch now felt safe in saying. And she was certainly capable of it. What if Weems found out and had to be done in, too? Mitch could believe it. He could believe all of it.