'Good,' I said, when she was done. 'Give her a smack.'
Grace hauled off and slapped the side of Irma's face. It made a flat whapping noise, like one board striking another. Her sweater pulled up above the waistband of her skirt with the swing of her arm.
Corky Herald went 'Unhh!' under his breath.
Irma let out a whoofing grunt. Her head snapped back, her face screwed up. She didn't look demure anymore. There was a large, hectic patch on her left cheek.
Grace threw back her head, drew a sudden knife-breath, and stood ready. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, beautiful and perfect. She waited.
'Irma for the prosecution,' I said. 'Go ahead, Irma. '
Irma was breathing heavily. Her eyes were glazed and offended, her mouth horrified. At that moment she looked like no one's sweet child of morning.
'Whore,' she said finally, apparently deciding to stick with a winner. Her lip lifted, fell, and lifted again, like a dog's. 'Dirty boy-fucking whore.'
I nodded to her.
Irma grinned. She was very big. Her arm, coming around, was like a wall. It rocketed against the side of Grace's face. The sound was a sharp crack.
'Ow!' someone whined.
Grace didn't fall over. The whole side of her face went red, but she didn't fall over. Instead, she smiled at Irma. And Irma flinched. I saw it and could hardly believe it: Dracula had feet of clay, after all.
I snatched a quick look at the audience. They were hung, hypnotized. They weren't thinking about Mr. Grace or Tom Denver or Charles Everett Decker. They were watching, and maybe what they saw was a little bit of their own souls, flashed at them in a cracked mirror. It was fine. It was like new grass in spring.
'Rebuttal, Grace?' I asked.
Grace's lips drew back from her tiny ivory teeth. 'You never had a date, that's what's the matter with you. You're ugly. You smell bad. And so all you think about is what other people do, and you have to make it all dirty in your mind. You're a bug.'
I nodded to her.
Grace swung, and Irma shied away. The blow struck her only glancingly, but she began to weep with a sudden, slow hopelessness. 'Let me out,' she groaned. 'I don't want to any more, Charlie. Let me
'Take back what you said about my mother,' Grace said grimly.
'Your mother sucks cocks!' Irma screamed. Her face was twisted; her toilet-roll curls bobbed madly.
'Good,' I said. 'Go ahead, Irma.'
But Irma was weeping hysterically. 'J-J-Je-
'Say you're sorry,' Grace said grimly. 'Take it back.'
'You suck cocks! ' Irma screamed from behind the barricade of her arms.
'Okay,' I said. 'Let her have it, Irma. Last chance.'
This time Irma swung from the heels. I saw Grace's eyes squeeze into slits, saw the muscles of her neck tighten into cords. But the angle of her jaw caught most of the blow and her head shifted only slightly. Still, that whole side of her face was bright red, as if from sunburn.
Irma's whole body jogged and jiggled with the force of her sobs, which seemed to come from a deep well in her that had never been tapped before.
'You haven't got nothing,' Grace said. 'You
'Hey, give it to her!' Billy Sawyer yelled. He slammed both fists down heavily on his desk. 'Hey, pour it on!'
'You ain't even got any
Irma let out a thin, reedy wail.
'All done,' Grace said to me.
'Okay,' I said. 'Give it to her.'
Grace drew back, and Irma screamed and went to her knees. 'Don't h-h-hit me. Don't hit me no more!
'Say you're sorry.'
'I can't,' she wept. 'Don't you know
'You can. You better.'
There was no sound for a moment, but the vague buzz of the wall clock. Then Irma looked up, and Grace's hand came down fast, amazingly fast, making a small, ladylike splat against Irma's cheek. It sounded like a shot from a .22.
Irma fell heavily on one hand, her curls hanging in her face. She drew in a huge, ragged breath and screamed, 'Okay! All right! I'm sorry!'
