Blue Belle

I drove the Plymouth on the way back. Belle was quiet.

'You mad at me?'

'I'm not mad at you - I'm not going to be mad at you. That's not the way I work. You want to be with me, I have to trust you. That's all there is.'

I turned to look at her. A tear rolled down her cheek, tracking through the makeup.

158  ANDREWVACHSS   BLUE BELLE  159

'Okay?' I asked her.

'I swear,' she promised, lying down on the front seat, curling up next to my leg. She didn't say another word all the way back to her house.

66     

When I pulled in behind the red Camaro, Belle was still lying across the front seat, her head against my leg. She put her hand on my thigh, grabbed hard enough to hurt.

'You have to come in with me.'

'Pretty bossy, aren't you?'

She looked up at me, her face wet, the lovely makeup ruined.

'Just come inside, honey. Come inside - you can be all the boss you want to be, but don't go away now.'

I opened my door, got out. Walked around to her side of the car to let her out. I held my hand out to her.

'Come on,' I told her.

She piled out of the Plymouth faster than I thought she could move.

67 

'Don't turn on the lights,' she said, pushing me to the couch. She patted my pockets, found cigarettes and matches. Lit one for each of us. The little flame shot highlights into her hair.

'I don't know what to do,' she said, sounding lost.

'About what?'

'I want to wash my face. Take these tears off. But if I do, the makeup won't stay.'

'Wash your face.'

'But you liked the way I looked. You said so.'

'I like the way you look in those pants too - does that mean you'll never take them off while I'm around?'

'It's not the same thing,' she sniffled.

'Yeah, it is,' I told her. 'Exactly the same thing. Underneath whatever you put on there's still you.'

'But . . .'

'But what?'

'That's not the way it is, honey. All my life . . . it's been the same thing. I have to take off my clothes to make a man forget my face.'

I held her against me, her face pressed into my chest, talking softly into her ear.

'Listen to me, Belle. You said you'd listen to me, yes?'

Her head nodded against me.

'You're the one who doesn't like your face. Because you don't understand it's your own face. I know whose face it is, okay?'

She nodded against me again.

'Go take off the makeup,' I said, patting her gently. While she was in the bathroom, I called the Prof. His voice sounded much stronger.

'I'm on the line with plenty of time.'

'It's me.'

'Back from the track?'

'Yeah. I spoke to the man.'

'So we got a plan?'

'No. Not yet. I want to see the guy you talked with. Square the beef. Drop the case. Walk away.'

'He's got to pay, but not today?'

'Right. And we don't want anyone else in the game - just you and me.'

'He's not going to stop till he gets to the top.'

'I'm not sure that's right, Prof. I think this dueling shit isn't the real story - he was riding shotgun on this other thing, and you stumbled into the line of fire.'

'Could be, man. But . . .'

'No names, we'll talk later. I'll come and see you. On the first shift, okay?'

'I can't run, son.'

I hung up.

68     

Belle came out of the bathroom wearing a black bra over the striped pants, a doubtful look on her freshly scrubbed face. She lit another of her fat black candles, propping it on the sink.

'I'm ugly again,' she said.

I gave her a hard look but she didn't flinch. 'I looked for myself,' she said, her voice sad.

I took a drag of my cigarette. 'You want me to fix it?'

'How? Put a bag over my head?'

'Come here,' I said, keeping my voice even.

She walked over to the couch.

'Take off those pants.'

She reached back to unhook her bra. 'Just the pants,' I told her.

She stepped out of her spike heels. Even with the zipper all the way down, getting the pants off was a struggle. She stood there in her bra and panties, hands on her hips. 'You want these off too?' she asked, her thumbs hooked in the waistband.

'Yeah.'

She did, watching me every second. 'Now what?'

'Come with me,' I said, taking her hand. I led her back to the bathroom, posing her in front of the sink. The candle's flickering glow carried through the open door.

'Lean forward,' I told her, my hand on her shoulder. 'Look into the mirror.'

'I still think . . .'

'Shut up. Just do what I tell you, okay?'

'Okay.'

'I'm going to ask you some questions,' I said, sliding my hand down to her waist. 'Soon as you get the right answer, I'll stop. Got it?'

'Yes.'

'Look in the mirror - tell me what you see.'

'An ugly old girl.'

I slid my hand to her butt, took a plump cheek in my right hand, gave her a hard, sharp pinch.

'Ow!' she yelped.

'Wrong answer,' I told her. 'What do you see now?'