Transgressions

Her hands fell to her sides as she exhaled; the right hand twitched. Otherwise she didn't move.

'You know? After all these years I'm going to find out who did this to me?'

'I've got a good idea.'

She made a sound deep in her throat of pain and sorrow, but didn't attempt to remove the mask. She shied when Peter impatiently put out a hand to her shrouded face.

'It's okay. You can trust me, Eileen.' Inches from her body, feeling the heat of her, aware of a light perfume and arousing musk, he reached slowly behind her blond head and touched the little bow where her mask was tied as gently as if he were about to grasp a butterfly.

'I've only trusted one man in my life,' she said dispiritedly. Then, unagressively but firmly, she snugged her groin against his, tamely laying her head on his shoulder so he could easily untie the mask.

He'd been expecting scars similar to those Anne Van Lier wore for life. But Eileen's were worse. Much of her face had burned, rendered almost to bone. The scar gullies were slick and mahogany-colored, with glisters of purple. He could see a gleam of her back teeth on the left, most heavily damaged side.

She flinched at his appalled examination, lowering her head, thrusting at him with her pelvis.

'All right,' she said. 'Now you're satisfied? Or are we just getting started?'

'I told you I didn't want to—'

'That's a lie. You're ready to explode in your pants.' But she relented, stepping back from him, with a grin that was almost evil in the context of a ravaged face. 'What's the matter? Your mommy told you to stay away from women like me? I'm clean. Cleaner than any little piece you're likely to pick up in a bar on Friday night. Huh? We're regulated in Nevada, in case you didn't know. The Board of Health dudes are here every week.'

'I just want to talk. How did you get the face, Eileen?'

Her breath whistled painfully between her teeth.

'Fuck you mean? It's all in the case file.'

'But I want to hear it from you.'

Her face had little mobility, but her lovely eyes could sneer.

'Oh. Cops and their perversions. You all belong in a Dumpster. Give me back my mask.'

She shied again when he tried to tie the mask on, then sighed, touching one of Peter's wrists, an exchange of intimacy.

'My face, my fortune,' she said. 'Would you believe how many men need a freakshow to get them up?

God damn all of them. Present company excluded, I guess. You try to act tough but you've got a kind face.' With the mask secure she felt bold enough to look him in the eye. 'Your coffee must have cooled off by now,' she said, suddenly the gracious hostess. 'Would you like another cup?'

He nodded. She sat on the edge of a gilt and maroon-striped settee to pour coffee for them.

'So you want to hear it again. Why not?' She licked a sugar cube a couple of times before putting it into her cup. 'I was alone in the lab, working on an experiment. Part of my PhD requirement in O-chem.' Peter sipped coffee from the cup she handed him as he remained standing close to the settee. Still encouraging the intimacy she seemed to crave. It wasn't just cop technique to get someone to spill their guts. He felt anguish for Eileen, as her eyes wandered in remembrance. 'I, I was tired, you know, hadn't slept for thirty-six hours. Something like that. Didn't hear anyone come in. Didn't know he was there until he was breathing down my neck.' She looked up. 'Is this what turns you on?' she said, as if she'd lost track of who he was. Only another john to be entertained. She took Peter's free hand, raised it to her face, guided his ring finger beneath the mask and between her lips, touching it with the tip of her tongue. That was a new one on Peter, but the effect was disturbingly erotic.

'I started to turn on my stool,' Eileen said her voice close to a whisper as she looked up at Peter, lips caressing his captive finger, 'and got a cup of H2S04 in my face.'

'But you didn't see—'

'All I saw was a gloved hand, an arm. Then—I was burning in hell.' She bit down on his finger, at the base of the nail, laughed delightedly when he jerked his hand away.

'I can tell you who it was,' Peter said angrily. 'Because you're not the first woman who posed for John Ransome and got a face like yours.'

He wasn't fully prepared for the ferocity with which she came at him, hissing like a feral cat, hands clawlike to ream out his eyes. He caught her wrists and forced her hands down.

'John Ransome? That's crazy! John loved me and I loved him!'

'Take it easy, Eileen! Did he come to see you after it happened?'

'No! So what? You think I wanted him to see me like this? Think I want anyone looking at me unless they're paying for it? Oh how I make them pay!'

'Eileen, I'm sorry.' He had used as much force as he dared; she was strong in her fury and could inadvertantly break a wrist struggling with him. When she was off balance Peter pushed her hard away from him. 'I'm sorry, but I'm not wrong.' He moved laterally away from her, not wanting some of his face to wind up under her fingernails. But she had choked on her outrage and was having trouble getting her breath.

'F-Fuck you! What are you cops . . . trying to do to John? Did one of the others say something against him? Tell me, I'll tear her fucking heart out!'

'Were you that much in love with him?'

'I'm not talking to you anymore! Some things are still sacred to me!'

Eileen backed up a few steps and sat down heavily, her body in a bind as if she wore a