Louise thought about that for a moment, shook her head no, meaning she didn’t want to be alone, and Paula smiled and said, “That’s a good girl,” and shut the door on us.
I stood there looking down at the girl, in the blue-ivory semi-light. She looked up at me. She looked pretty pitiful.
I said, “Is it all right if I lay back down, there?”
She swallowed. Nodded. Then quickly added, “But keep your pants on.”
I smiled at her. “I don’t do anything in a hurry.”
Despite herself, despite her situation, she found a tiny smile for me. Said, “Well, keep ’em on, anyway.”
“I can pull these beds apart a ways, if you like.”
“No. No, that’s okay.”
I lay back down.
She turned her back to me.
A few minutes ticked by, and then I heard her sobbing. I thought about touching her shoulder, but let it go.
Then she turned to me and, a hanky clenched in her fist, face slick with tears, said, “This is all wet.” She meant the hanky. “You wouldn’t happen to…?”
“Sure,” I said, and dug out a handkerchief for her.
She patted her face dry; no new tears seemed on the way, at least not immediately. She said, “I must look a mess.”
“You look fine. But you got a right to feel that way.”
She shook her head despairingly. “He was alive one minute, and the next…” Her chin crinkled in anger; she looked like a little girl about to throw a tantrum. “I’d like to kill that damn doctor!”
“It’s been taken care of.”
That shocked her. The angry look turned blank and she said, rather hollowly, “They…killed him?”
I nodded.
“Good,” she said. But I didn’t quite buy it.
“You don’t have to pretend for me,” I said.
“What?”
“That you like it. The cheap way life and death is traded in around here.”
She swallowed again. “I didn’t really mean I wanted Doc Moran dead. He’s a…he was a lush and always crowing about himself. But…”
“But he didn’t deserve to die for it. That what you’re saying?”
She shrugged a little; leaned on her elbow and looked at me. Those eyes. Those goddamn eyes.
“He didn’t mean to kill Candy,” she said. “I hate him for not being a better doctor. But I’m not glad they killed him.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Just don’t expect me to cry for him,” she said, with an edge of bitterness. “I don’t have any tears left for that damn old drunk.”
I nodded.
“You’re nice to stay in here with me, Mr. Lawrence.”
“Call me Jimmy. Should I call you Lulu?”
“If you like…Jimmy.”
“What’s Lulu short for?”
“Louise. Nobody around here calls me that.”
“Would it be okay if I call you that?”
That surprised her; but she nodded, three little nods.
“Why don’t you get some sleep, Louise.”
“All right,” she said.
She turned on her stomach, facing away from me.
I lay looking up at the stars in the ceiling-paper sky.
After a while she said, “Jimmy?”
“Yes, Louise?”
“Would you do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
