Silent Treatment

me aswell, and he didn't. I think he didn't because he's certain that sooner orlater the police are going to arrest me. He let me go because he doesn'tbelieve I have any cards to play. But I do — two of them, actually. I've heardhis voice and you've seen his face.'

'And you think that if I'm drinking I'llbe of no use to you.'

'I think that the last time you drank youalmost died. I don't want you to die.'

She studied his face.

'I really want to drink,' she said.

'I know you do,' he replied with genuineempathy. 'I really want to run away from all this. Someplace unbearably warmwhere they use shells for currency and haven't heard of malpractice suits orHMOs or grand juries. But I'm not going to.'

Maura opened the box of chocolate-coveredmints, slid one onto her tongue, and closed her eyes as it dissolved in hermouth.

'You knew about the sweets things, didn'tyou,' she said.

Harry sensed a letup in the wallconstruction.

'That doesn't make me an expert.'

She savored another mint.

'Ten or eleven thousand calories a day inbonbons and Life Saves and Kit Kats, and I haven't gained an ounce. Go figure.'

'You're lucky. I just look at that stuffand my belt lets itself out a notch — go figure.'

Maura said the words in unison with himand then almost laughed. Almost. Harry waited. She picked at the edge ofthe mint box, then closed it and set it on the table. He knew this was themoment. She was considering asking him to abandon his crusade to keep her soberand just leave. And if she did, he would have to go, and she would be drunkwithin an hour or two.

'Harry, I'm sorry for giving you such ahard time,' she said finally. 'I suppose you know that right now you're theonly thing standing between me and the bottle of Southern Comfort I have in thekitchen.'

'The only thing standing between you andthat bottle is you, Maura. If knowing that makes me an expert, then maybe I amone after all.'

In the silence that followed, Harry feltthe topmost bricks come off the wall. Just shut up! he pleaded withhimself. He had said what he could. Anything more might just turn her off. Nota word. Not one goddamn -

'What do you think of this turban?' she askedsuddenly. 'I'm very self-conscious about having so little hair. I tried a wig,but it looked ridiculous.'

'Like Dickinson.'

'Pardon?'

'Albert Dickinson. You cut him to shredsby telling him that his toupee looked like a piece of lettuce. Remember?'

Harry could tell from her expression thatshe did not.

'Oh, yes,' she said with no conviction.'You think the turban's ugly. I can tell. Do you think I should take it off?'

'I think you should do whatever you wantto.'

'You still want to go out for dinner?'

'Of course.'

'Even with a flaky, bald chick who keepspopping Peanut M amp;M's and Raisinets?'

'Try me.'

She swept the turban off and tossed itacross the room. Her reddish-blond hair had grown back a bit, although the scarfrom her operation still showed.

'You're staring,' she said.

Harry knew he was, though not for thereason she was thinking. With the headdress gone, it was as if he was seeingher face for the first time. The swelling and bruises that had so disfiguredher were gone. Her skin was smooth and beautifully pale, with a faint, naturalblush and a few freckles highlighting her high, sculpted cheeks. Her eyes, arich ocean green, seemed possessed of their own intrinsic light. And her mouthwas wide and sensual. Harry felt his own mouth go dry.

'I … um … I don't think you need theturban,' he managed.

'Okay, the turban's history. If you'restill up for dinner, I'm a nut for Indian food.'

'I'm up for it and I know a place.'

He glanced around the room and realizedthat two and possibly three of the stark portraits were of Maura herself. Theywere skillfully done. No one could dispute that. And there was certainly aconstancy in her vision of herself. But as far as he was concerned, none ofthem captured even a trace of the allure and gentle mystery of the womansitting across from him.

'You know,' she said, 'you really are anice guy. I'd like to help you if I can.'

She took a tan windbreaker from the backof a chair and slipped it on. 'Harry, did anyone ever tell you that you looklike — wait a minute, I'll think of who. . Oh, I know, Gene Hackman. I thinkyou look a little like Gene Hackman.'

Harry looked at her curiously, uncertainof how to respond. Her expression was too matter-of-fact. She didn'tremember!

'I … um. . yes. One person did tellme I looked like him.'

'Your wife?'

'No. No, it was someone else. Maura, Imeant to wait until after dinner to discuss the mystery doc, but could you tellme a bit of what he looked like — how you described him to your brother?'

She seemed about to respond. Then her eyesnarrowed. Harry could feel as much as see her confusion.

'You know,' she said. 'I remember someonecoming into the room. At least I think I do. But that's all.'

'You mean you can't picture his face?'

She looked at him sadly and then shook herhead.

'Harry, I didn't realize it until rightnow, but no. I can't picture a thing from that night. Not a goddamn thing.'

Chapter18

'Watch that kid shoot,' Harry said, asthey stood by the high chain-link fence that surrounded the basketball court.'The little one with the Knicks shirt.'

The teenager, smaller and quicker thananyone else in the game, obliged by sinking an off-balance jump shot fromtwenty feet.

'Nice call,' Maura said.

They watched for a few more minutes andthen headed down Manhattan Avenue toward Central Park.

'You sure you want to walk all the way tothe restaurant?' Harry asked.

'I know it's hard to believe, but before Idid my half gainer with a full twist down those stairs, I was a fairly decentrunner.'

'We walk.'

Harry shared details of his own ongoingstruggle to stay in shape.

'You know, you're being very patient notgrilling me about that doctor from the hospital,' she said.

'We can talk about it later.'

'I feel terrible, but I really can'tremember what he looked like. I haven't thought about the hospital much, mostlybecause I didn't want to. Now I want to, but it's like. . like my brain isSwiss cheese. Some things, some conversations are crystal clear. Others. .?'

'Just out of curiosity, do you rememberyour brother's friend, Lonnie? He was in the room that night. His nickname isthe Dweeb.'