"He's my favorite too," I said.
"They wanted to know all about Mr. Ellspeth. I thought at one point they were going to go right out and kill him. I told them he was scared of his own shadow, that he only talked to us in the first place because we threatened to publish his name and address if he didn't, and how would they have liked that, I asked them. Every reporter in America making a campfire to cook wienies on his doorstep. Merryman gave me that veneer of a smile and said they wouldn't like it at all. Then he said to Barry, 'Play a little tick-tack-toe on her.' "
"You didn't tell them. You're something."
"That pig," she said. She settled against me. "How come you're always warm? I've wondered about that for years."
"The banked fires of genius."
"We're going to need them."
"Fortunately, they didn't think of throwing water on me."
She stiffened. "Oh, no. Did they hurt you too? Jesus," she said uncharacteristically, "I didn't even ask."
"Not much," I said, feeling brave.
"That's just like you. Eagle Scout to the toes. Did they?"
"I'll be a few short on my five-finger exercises for a while."
"Oh, my gosh. Do you think you'll lose the nails?"
I laughed again. "I certainly hope so. That would take weeks."
"We're going to get out," she said. "We're going to get out and then we're going to glue those two together with Krazy Glue and give them to Al Hammond. Merryman's front to Barry's back. No, reverse that. I think Merryman would enjoy it."
"I think they'd both enjoy it. Why don't we just glue their lips and nostrils closed and watch them try to breathe through their ears."
"Poor old Brooks," she said. After a moment she said, "On the other hand, fuck him." I'd never heard her use the word before. "Let's just worry about us."
"The problem," I said, "is how to measure time. Getting out of here early would be almost as bad as not getting out of here at all."
"That's easy," she said. "We'll just wait until we think it's time and then we'll wait a lot longer." She shivered. "How long do you think it might be?"
"Two hours, maybe three."
"That's a long time. What do you want to do in the meanwhile?"
"We could neck."
"We could keep warm if we made love," she said, startling me, "if it weren't for the rats, that is."
I wrapped both arms around her, feeling an absurd surge of desire. "To be perfectly frank, though," she said, "I've made love with rats before. We'll have to keep most of our clothes on, obviously."
"No problem," I said.
For the next hour or so, in pitch-darkness, we rediscovered each other. All the sweet familiarities flooded back, all the half-forgotten textures, smells, hills, mounds, the secret valleys, the most intimate landscapes. I twined her hair around my fingers and inhaled the yeasty scent of her skin. She licked the side of my neck in long, languorous cat-laps. It had always driven me crazy, and I was obscurely touched that she'd remembered.
"You need a shave," she whispered.
"Do it with your teeth," I said.
The clothes got in the way, and it didn't matter. When the cooler came on I noted the noise but didn't feel the drop in temperature. We achieved release together, just as we almost always had. Then Eleanor laughed.
"I hope you understand," she said, "that I don't usually do it in refrigerators."
"Plead special circumstances," I said.
"Oh," she said, "I do. I do." She blew warm breath into my mouth. "Another first," she said.
"I do my best."
"You do better than anyone. Gee. Suppose someone had come in."
"This bunch, they'd have enjoyed it."
"Not as much as I did."
Then she was silent. I heard her fingers scrabbling over elastic and buttons.
"What are you wearing?" I said.
"Oh, Simeon. You always used to ask me that on the phone. Remember?"
"And you used to answer me." The basic, horrible fact of our situation reasserted itself.
"A pink blouse. And those black pants you bought me in Santa Monica, the ones with the big zippered pockets. Flats."
"Good. A skirt would have gotten in the way later."
"When has a skirt ever gotten in your way?" She was teasing on the square. This was the Eleanor I'd grown accustomed to over the past few years, and it had been my fault.
"Did you explore?" I said to change the subject.
"Only the door," she said. "After that I sat down and the rat touched my hand. Then I didn't want to go anyplace. I just sat there, and after a while I think I went to sleep."
"You slept?" Eleanor could sleep anywhere. She invariably fell asleep in planes before they took off, while I was coiled in my seat clutching a drink and repeating a secret mantra that went "Oh, my Lord, preserve the lives of those on board." And I didn't even believe in God.
"I was up all night," she said. "And what that man did to me wore me out."
"Of course it did," I said, getting up.
"Where are you going?"
"Out for a little air."
"Very funny. I think I should get straight answers at this point."
"I'm going to fool with the door."
"It's not time yet. It can't be more than ten-thirty."
"I want to know what I'm up against."
"What we're up against," she said a trifle acidly.
I felt around the edges of the door. The walls were all tile, about four inches by four inches, separated by narrow grouting. Moisture had condensed on the tiles. The door itself felt different: cold, metallic, and slightly rough to the touch. Zinc, maybe. The rollers were on the left side of the door, about hip-high. They felt rubbery. As she said, the handle had been removed. I felt around the rollers, closing my eyes even in the darkness to envision them.
"Piece of cake," I said.
"My hero," Eleanor crooned.
I pulled out the knife and pushed the button. It snicked open with a lethal little click.
"What's that?" she said.
"The knife," I said. "I'm going to fool around a little."
"Don't cut yourself," she said automatically, and then she was laughing and I was laughing with her. Still laughing, I located the largest of the rollers with my fingers and slipped the knife into the crack between it and its neighbor. I worried it back and forth a little bit, feeling a reassuring give in the rollers. "God," I said, "this thing is ancient." I pushed the knife farther to the right.
The knife snapped.
"What was that?" she said.
I stood there, looking down through the darkness to the place where the broken knife blade would be. "Goddamn cheap fucking pimp," I said. "Stingy, skinny-nosed, cocaine-sniffing son of a bitch."
"What is it?" she said.
"What kind of asshole economizes on his knife? If you're dumb enough to carry one, you should be smart enough to carry a good one. Cheap piece of Taiwan shit."
"It broke," she said.
"Of course it broke. I should have known it would break. Gold wire wheels. Of course it broke."
"So what are we going to do?"
"We're going to wait for them to come for us," I said, sitting back down next to her. "Then we're going to rip them to pieces. What else can we do?"
"That was your plan?" she said. "The knife?"
"That was the beginning."
She leaned against me with a long sigh. "I wish I hadn't asked," she said.
About two hours later she said, "There must be a light."